


I went down, giving you my arm, at least one million of stairs

by Bethesda



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety Attacks, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Confused Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Human, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Humanity, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Look at him he's got anxiety, Love Confessions, M/M, Married Couple, Meant To Be, Sacrifice, Self-Sacrifice, So Married, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-06-25 18:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19751656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethesda/pseuds/Bethesda
Summary: "In our whole literature there is not a single case like yours, Principality Aziraphale. You went against advices and orders of your siblings, but you acted under God’s light. You didn’t betrayed Her, but you betrayed Them. You deserve to be punished, and in other circumstances your destiny would be one and one only. But we can’t destroy you, ‘cause it’s not God’s will. We can’t make you Fall, for you are already something different from an angel. We have made our decision”.[...]Another trial, another punishment.Something maybe worse then being destroyed by Holy Water is going to happen to Aziraphale and Crolwey.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone. This is going to be my first long after... Six years? And actually my very first long in English, so, first of all, if you notice any mistakes, forgive me and correct me.  
> Also, if anyone of you is interested in editing it, I would be very glad.  
> No idea how long it's gonna be, but I already know how to finish it and there are already three chapters ready.  
> I still don't know if it's gonna be red or orange rated. I'll decide in a few days. 
> 
> The tile is a quote from:
> 
> I went down, giving you my arm, at least one million of stairs  
> and now that you are no more here it’s the void on every step.  
> Also in such way our long journey has been short too.  
> Mine still goes on, and I need no more  
> coincidences, reservations,  
> traps, shames of those who think  
> that reality is that what you see.
> 
> I went down millions of stairs giving you my arm  
> not just because it’s better to see with four eyes than two.  
> With you I went down because I knew that between us  
> the only true pupils, though so much darkened,  
> were yours
> 
> \- Eugenio Montale
> 
> Enjoy your reading.

**\-------- I --------**

There was something incredibly awful in being kidnapped.  
And it was like the third time in - what? – two months?  
Aziraphale was pretty sure that there had to be the right amount of kidnapping in a certain amount of time and three was not the correct one.

Also, people kept hiding his head in those horrible jute bags and it made his head all itchy and his hair messy.  
He was getting pretty sick of the whole situation very fast.  
He would have written a review on YELP! if that could have helped but somehow he knew that kidnappers didn’t really mind about reviews.

When they took the hood off, he reconsidered. Maybe it was better for him having his head hidden, completely blind.

«Principality Aziraphale», started Metatron, «We are here gathered to give you the trial that you were denied months prior. We are to judge your actions in front of God and your brothers and sisters. If you have anything to say in your behalf before the beginning of your judgment, speak now freely, for from now on every word will be used as a proof of guilt or innocence».

Aziraphale groaned.

«Again?!»

The Metatron blinked slowly.  
It wasn’t a real need to blink, but a signal that all the other angels understood.

«Then shall we begin».

**\- -**

There’s no need to talk about the first kidnapping, of course. It was right after the failed Armageddon and both Aziraphale and Crowley thought that it was going to be their last contact with their former colleagues.

The second one, on the other end, it’s worth of a mention.  
It was pretty peculiar for it didn’t involved bags or cuffs or anything else. Nothing but a picnic basket.

It was a warm day of July.  
The air was frisky, tourists were showing their skin to the sun, getting badly burned, but it wasn’t important ‘cause London was beautiful and kissed by a gentle breeze.

But Aziraphale was anxious.

It had been five days since his last meeting with Crowley at the Ritz and for whatever reasons his friend had disappeared.  
Now, not that it was something so out of character, but after all they had been through it was quite disappointing and worrying.  
And that one was the thought for the first three days.

When the fourth arrived, something different got him.

Fear.

What if his people had tried to kill him once again? Or maybe he was prisoner somewhere in hell and there was no way to reach him?

But another kind of fear got him between the fourth and fifth day.

«I don’t remember what happened after our last lunch», he said raising his head, caught by the doubt in the middle of a not so well written book.

Of course they had had a wonderful lunch. They had talked and eaten.  
And had had a few drinks.  
Maybe more than a few.  
And the lunch had become a dinner and after that, nothing.  
Total blackout.

He had just impressed in his mind Crowley’s body and hands, so close to him right at that table. Why was he so close in those memories? And were they memories or dreams? No, that was impossible. Angels were not able to dream.

So it was some kind of fuzzy memory.

Crowley’s fingers drawing little circles on the back of his hand. And no glasses.

He clearly remembered his jade eyes staring at his soul and the incredible urge that he had had to lean over him and—

Oh God, what had he done?

The fifth day was spent trying to recollect every dust of memory that he had, but it was futile. He had forgotten to sober up after that incredible amount of alcohol and now he had no idea of what he could had said to make his friend run away.

«Maybe», he said to himself, «It’s not about something that I said, but about something that I have done».

And somehow that was even worst, ‘cause the only thing was about that image of his friend, his lips that kept parting while he talked, showing his red, warm tongue, almost asking for being kissed and bitten.

He gripped his own hair in despair.

«I kissed my best friend», he assumed.  
«And I don’t remember it», was the hasty conclusion.

He spent a few hours agonizing, till six o’clock, when the door of the shop swung open despite the “closed” sign hanging on it.

  
«We are closed», was the first reaction to that violence. Not such a strong reaction, but it was the only one that he could offer in that moment.

But then he realized who was the one that had dared to interrupt his trip of guiltiness and shame.

«Crowley».  
«There’s no time to ‘Crowley’ me, angel. Get out and hop in the car».

He was the same as five days prior. There was just a slightly difference the shade of black of his pants and he was wearing no jacket. Maybe it was because of the weather, thought Aziraphale, but then remembered that hot or cold for them made no difference.

«But—»  
«What part of ‘there’s no time’ you don’t understand?»  
And then he was out of there.

Aziraphale wasn’t left with a second to thought, and neither he wanted it, cause he was out, the keys of the shop in one pocket and still a little of fear in the other one. 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a date.  
> There is awkwardness.   
> There are ducks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is way longer then the first one but I needed to do that. Since I want to write some angst, I'm trying to compensate with awkwardness and fluff.   
> Once again, no editing and not my native language.

**_\---------- II ----------_ **

There were ducks.

An insane amount of ducks.

Aziraphale thought that he had never seen such a copious number of that kind of birds gathered in one single place.

They were nice.

A bit annoying actually, with their continuous quacking.

But it could have been worse.

They could have given them some vuvuzelas.

Crowley and Aziraphale were sat on a blanket at the bottom of a green hill, surrounded by trees and right next to a beautiful pond.

And that was where the ducks were.

Somehow they were both focusing their attention on those animals, almost ignoring each other, apart from some comments like “They do look cute” and “Yeah” or “So many feathers” and even “Is it possible that we’re in the middle of migrating season?” and other nonsense discussions about other kind of birds, like the ability of a swallow to transport a coconut.

«An African swallow or an European one?»

«That’s not the point, Aziraphale».

Crowley managed to silence them with a snap of fingers and finally there was peace.

Just the two of them, the beauty of nature, water gurgling a few feet away, the gentle breeze moving their air.

And their utter, total embarrassment.

During the car trip Crowley had said nothing. Just a few words to answer Aziraphale’s questions about where he had been during those days, and even those answers hadn’t been satisfying.

Mostly because they were grunted or monosyllabic.

Once they had arrived to where Crowley wanted to get them, Aziraphale had been forced to follow him for five minutes through the woods, somewhere near Tadfield. Maybe it had something to do about the Apocalypse.

But why in the world there was the need of a picnic basket for something linked to that?

But once he had seen the little nice pond, the marvel of the sun starting to set over the golden countryside, he had understood that it was nothing like that.

And now they were there, sat on the fresh grass, their eyes on the now muted ducks that looked quite desperate about their new condition.

«I owed you a picnic», said Crowley abruptly.

Aziraphale smiled a bit perplexed but said nothing, incapable of doing it.

He thanked him after a minute or two, for something that looked totally unlinked from the picnic thing. Certainly it was nice.

They hadn’t touched anything yet.

Nor the food – nicely homemade sandwiches – nor the cold beers that were now sweating their coldness with big, fresh tears of water on the tartan plaid.

The fact that it was tartan made Aziraphale smile, because it was definitely his style but with a little touch of Crowley, since it was black, grey and red.

It was actually pretty nice.

The demon stayed silent for a while once again, looking at his feet.

But he was nervous. The hand that was on the blanket was ticking a finger with impatience and Aziraphale knew that he was going to say something.

He, on the other hand, didn’t really know what to do.

He felt the urge to ask about their last lunch – or dinner, whatever – but he didn’t know how to put it: Ehi, have we kissed? ‘Cause I suppose it was wonderful and breath-taking but I can’t remember anything about it apart from your hands and how close we were.

Rude.

Thankfully it was Crowley the one that broke that silence.

«For Satan’s sake, angel. If you are angry at me say it, there’s no need to give me this treatment».

Aziraphale looked at him perplexed.

«Why should I be angry at you?»

«Because of what happened at the Ritz. After the Ritz».

Maybe there was a way not to pass as a complete idiot. He bluffed.

«And tell me, dear», he started, turning towards, head and torso, hands on his own knees. «What happened that made you think that I am angry?»

Crowley frowned and his mouth opened a bit in a weird grimace.

«I—»

«Yes? You--? Go on, my dear boy».

«I have no fucking clue», admitted the demon.

Aziraphale shut his mouth.

«I woke up completely wasted the day after our lunch and I am pretty sure that I have done something awful».

And he opened it again.

«But why are you so sure?»

«Because you were gone for five days! And also I remember—things».

Crowley was now looking far away and his hands were now still as rocks, grabbing the plaid. And Aziraphale felt so dumb. But somehow he thought that his friend was even dumber.

« _I_ was gone?!», blurted. « _You_ were gone for _five_ days!»

«What?!»

«You disappeared! Not a word, not a phone call! I thought you were in the hand of Satan himself!»

The demon turned towards him, a bit of his tongue out, hissing.

«What the he—fuck are you saying?! You are the one that didn’t called!»

«Why, have you called me?! I can assure you that it’s not the case ‘cause my phone was always free», screamed Aziraphale.

«Well, mine too!», cried the other one.

«Is it because of the kiss?»

Crowley shut his mouth and let his eyes open widely.

«The wha—what are you saying?»

«It’s confused», squealed Aziraphale, unsure why he had said something like that. He wasn’t even sure about his last statement, since the only thing that he remembered was the desire to kiss the other one that he knew had felt.

«So we really kissed?», continued Crowley, now definitely agitated.

«I don’t know, OK?!»

They sat down, their eyes far away, and silence fell over once again, but not for too long.

Ducks were looking at them with puzzled eyes. As much as puzzled ducks can look.

«So», Aziraphale started again, «What about you tell me what you remember and I tell you what I can recall?»

Crowley grunted what seemed like a “fine”.

Still looking at the horizon, not to meet the angel’s eyes, the lenses bright gold because of the setting sun, the demon spoke.

«We drank. Quite a lot. We stayed so long at the Ritz that after the lunch we had dinner there too. And we might have started to talk».

«About what?»

There were no glasses capable of hiding a stare of such pure irritation and Aziraphale shut his mouth.

«I think you said something about us. About _our side_. And that it was nice not to hide anymore. And after that we went to your bookshop. I really don’t know how we got there ‘cause my Bentley doesn’t have a scratch but I can’t assure that we haven’t hit something or someone».

«No, we took a cab. I remember it now», the angel interrupted. A flash of that evening passed through his eyes and he could see themself on the back seats of the cab, hands touching with expectation. And that Crowley had whispered something in his left hear that had made him shiver.

But right now he couldn’t recall what.

«Oh, so you remember».

«Just...images. Like pictures. It’s all so fuzzy».

Crowley nodded and kept talking.

«We arrived at your bookshop and you went looking for some more wine. Damn, you drink like you don’t want to live».

Aziraphale’s eyes were screaming “ _Is this really coming from you?”_

«And from the moment we sat on the couch...nothing».

«Nothing?»

«Well, almost nothing».

« _Well_ , keep going!»

«There’s no need to rush me: you survived five days without knowing, I think you can resist other two minutes», snapped the demon.

Aziraphale puffed, anxious. But then he looked at what was surrounding them and thought that maybe it was nor the time nor the place to argue.

It was such a pleasant sunset, and they were alone.

They could have spent their time eating and chatting but instead they were discussing their drunk stupor.

He wanted to say it out loud, and also to thank Crowley for bringing him there but the necessity to know what had happened between them was too strong.

He _needed_ to know.

‘Cause maybe they were there together for the last time and that was what Crowley had in mind: a goodbye picnic, something that he had to do because he owed him for that thing about Holy Water in the 70’s.

His heart shattered a bit at the thought.

He decided that it was time to soften.

They were not enemies, not anymore.

Actually, they never were.

He looked for Crowley’s hand, still on the blanket, and caressed it.

«Please, go on. We are still here talking and whatever happened is not going to change anything».

He read something in Crowley’s expression behind his glasses.

At first a little embarrassment for the unexpected contact.

And then some kind of displeasure, maybe linked to his words.

Crowley took a deep breath, resting his eyes on the sight of the angel’s hands on his own, but just for a few second, enough to let him recover his thoughts.

«I woke up next to you. On the sofa. More like, tangled to you».

Crowley felt the other one hand stopping.

«Oh».

«Yeah».

«But I don’t usually sleep».

«Apparently you sleep _with me_ ».

Crowley was expecting a scene.

Six millennia were not easy to erase, and somehow he knew that Aziraphale was not ready for something like that. It had been just a week since the End of the World and they were still testing their newly obtained freedom.

Instead, Aziraphale blushed and looked away, once again at his feet, at the little trail of ants that was looking at their picnic basket with gluttony but that couldn’t reach it because of something that Crowley had made when they had arrived.

«Did we—»

How could he put it in the right way without resulting vulgar? And why was he asking it so calmly?

«Well, when I woke up we were both still dressed».

«Oh».

«Right. So, unless we were peculiarly attentive _after_ , we haven’t done anything».

«That’s a relief».

Crowley nodded, actually a bit peeved.

«It would have been a real pity to have done something like that and not to remember it».

Those words slipped out of Aziraphale’s mouth and he couldn’t stop them.

He could feel Crowley’s eyes on him.

«I beg you pardon?»

«I mean... Well—»

«Yes, angel?»

The demon was leaning toward him now, his body almost touching Aziraphale’s one, and he had a little smirk of victory on his face.

«Don’t look at me like that».

«Like what?»

«Like if you are trying to make me admit that I have sinned».

Crowley shrugged his shoulders and straightened his back.

  
«I would never do that», said him with a slightly pitched tone.

«You are a demon. That’s what you do».

He was now serious and his victorious expression was gone.

«Not to you. You know that».

He looked insulted.

Aziraphale didn’t wanted that. But he was conscious of the spiked path that they were walking barefoot, and he didn’t know what to do.

Because the thought of _them_ doing _that_ was something so big and absurd to imagine that he couldn’t believe that he wasn’t remembering any of it. But even worst was the fact that he couldn’t remember being asleep next to Crowley, surrounded by his arms, something so intimate that he had never even dared to imagine.

And now the demon was telling him that it had happened, on his own couch, for a whole night and maybe that something else had happened too.

And they were there, arguing about it.

He wanted to rewind everything back, right to that night, to remember every single action that his mind had cancelled.

He promised himself to never drink so much to forget to sober up.

«C’mon, it’s your turn. What do you remember», Crowley interrupted him.

He awoke from his daydream.

«Actually, not so much. The amount of alcohol, the cab and really nothing more. Just the constant desire to do a certain thing».

«And what is that?»

What did he had to lose?

It was pretty clear that both of them had _feelings_ for each other and somehow they always ended up drunk flirting. This last time had been the typical cherry on the top of the cake. In his mind they were still the angel and the demon on opposite sides, trying to interfere with the other’s plans without success. But it wasn’t right.

They were friend and they had been almost since the beginning.

They had lied to protect one another; they had been ready to fight for the world that they had watched grown.

And despite the first centuries full of suspect, during which Aziraphale had tried to stay away from him as far as he could, too plagiarized by his former side about what should have been bad or good _,_ they were bonded in such a way that it couldn’t be wrong.

«To kiss you».

Crowley froze.

«And do you know what is worst? That maybe I’ve done it, but I can’t remember! Maybe we should quit heavy drinking», he joked, trying to lift the heavy atmosphere that had just formed.

«But we _love_ heavy drinking», said Crowley, somehow unfocused, since his mind was still trying to process the last two sentences that he had just heard. «Yes, me too. But there are some thing that I would prefer to recall».

They went quiet.

Now the ducks were pretty chill about their new condition as voiceless creatures and they too were looking with desire at the diabolically protected basket.

«Maybe», said Crowley, «We could start again».

Aziraphale looked at him puzzled.

«Like, to cancel everything and retry».

«Weren’t we saying not to get wasted again?»

«I’m not talking about getting wasted. More like—have another lunch».

Aziraphale looked at him.

Then at the untouched sandwiches that were just next to them.

Then once again at Crowley, pointing at the food like “ _Hello? We are already here_ ”.

« _Damn, sometimes you are just so dumb_ », the demon mumbled softly, not letting him hear.

«I’m talking about a real lunch. Or dinner. That», said he, indicating their food, «was a way to apologize. Even though it wasn’t necessary in the end, apparently, since you were clueless too. Also, as I already said, I owed you a picnic».

«But there’s no need to go anywhere else, we can just enjoy this beautiful place, full of God’s beauty and--»

«Angel, for Christ sake – _fuck_ -, would you allow me take you out for a damn date?»

Aziraphale’s ears went red.

«Oh».

He looked at the demon, whom was now trying to reach a sandwich with eggs and tuna, only to offer it to him, maybe as a sign of peace for his cussing.

«I don’t even know why people assume that you are the clever one», mumbled.

The angel took the sandwich from the other one’s hands with a soft smile.

«I would love to go on a date with you».


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time ever writing smut stuff in english.  
> Red rated.

**\------ III ------**

There was no rush.

The little bell on the top of the bookshop door tinkled when they opened it, getting inside, surrounded by the darkness of the night that clothed the street and their bodies.

They didn’t reach for the light switch.

Their hands were too busy looking for each other various buttons, quite an insane amount, definitely too many. It wasn’t easy to concentrate on them while lips and tongue were occupied playing.

Also, despite Aziraphale knew very well his shop, it wasn’t really easy to cross hit backwards, eyes closed, too concentrated on his guest whom was pushing him through it, trying to reach any kind of horizontal surface.

And the first one that they got was the coffee table in the back, that Crowley hit right with his right tibia.

He cursed muffedly, letting the angel chuckle, but kept on kissing him with devotion.

But if the coffee table was there, that meant that there was also the couch.

Bingo!

It was quite satisfactory pushing Aziraphale, letting him fall on the sofa, eyes wide open for the surprise.

Crowley looked at him ravenous, letting himself get flood by the other’s beauty.

The angel had his vest unbuttoned, as part of his shirt; his bow tie was hanging on one side and his hair were like blonde, wild flames, completely messed up by the demon’s hands

Crowley too wasn’t so tidy, with his jacket nowhere to be found and the shirt completely open, so that Aziraphale could see the thin line of his abdomen, his iliac crests showing themselves over the belt. He was so skinny, but not in a sick way. He was _serpentine,_ without a single hair, apart from a thin line that went from his belly button to his pubes, a track for someone that could have gone lost in such beauty and that was meant to get them to the right path, somewhere that now was hidden by his pants.

Aziraphale found himself gulping, inebriated by that sight.

«Gosh, you are delightful», he whispered.

Crowley made his fingers run across his hair, something that he was used to do when he was embarrassed. Nor that it was something so easy to get from him.

«May I ask you something, dear?»

«Whatever you want, angel», he purred.

Oh God, since when did Crowley purred?

«Take off your glasses».

There was not a second of hesitation.

Crowley slowly took off his sunglasses, folding them and then throwing them away behind himself with a smirk. That was new.

That was good.

He felt a but tipsy at that sight, the demon looking at him with pure desire, his head tilting on one side to point at him like a prey.

He actually wanted to be a prey, he found himself thinking.

Crowley finally leaned over him, his right leg still straight out of the couch to give him support, while the other one found that wanted to be right between Aziraphale’s ones, close to his crotch.

«Oh blimey», he murmured, looking at him with wide opened eyes. The tip of Crowley’s tongue was showing from between his teeth, hissing slightly.

Definitely they hadn’t done something like that when they were drunk, ‘cause he was sure that he would have remembered it anyway.

It was something impossible to forget.

The demon cut the distance, looking for the other one’s neck with his mouth while one hand was trying to keep him in balance and the other was going on with that meticulous work of unbuttoning and unzipping, till Aziraphale’s chest was uncovered and he could leave a trail of kisses along his perfect, angelic skin.

The angel dared to let his hand sink in the devil’s red hair, caressing them with desire.

How was it possible to get used to that?

He was getting drunk just with those chaste kisses, so soft and warm, almost unbearable. His muscles were begging him to do something.

But Crowley was too busy with those light touches that were driving Aziraphale mad. And he wanted more, ‘cause after six thousand years telling himself that he had nothing to do with that devil, finally it was time for him to say something.

That he wanted his hands all over him, his lips looking for his own, his tongue playing with unmentionable parts of his body;

That his eyes made him crazy, and he was glad that since Rome he had been wearing glasses, ‘cause those jade jewels were too distracting.

That he wanted to rewind over and over their very first kiss from a few hours before, when they were walking after their dinner through a little park near the restaurant that Aziraphale had chosen – also, their official first date. And as he was laughing, talking about something silly that right now he couldn’t even remember, Crowley had stopped right in the middle of a dusty road, illuminated only by an old streetlamp, to look at him. And then, to kiss him. Such a tender, timid kiss. So different from the ones that they had started exchanging right after they had parked the Bentley in front of the shop.

But also he had wanted to tell him what he felt about him, that enormous flow of emotions that was moving him in that moment, because yes, he was so damn in l—

His urge was stopped by a new, different kind of touch.

Yes, Crowley was still kissing him, but not anymore his chest or his abdomen. He was now southern, on the fabric of his trousers, a very specific point that right now was having a whole series of issues that he had never shown to anyone else.

«Are you okay, angel?» murmured the devil.

The sound that Aziraphale made was definitely not human. But neither angelic nor evil. It was more like a interrupted, short gurgle.

Crowley took it as a yes and kept going.

He was following a very precise path, clearly delineated by the excitement of its owner. Soft, light kisses from the base to the tip, that flickered when it was reached.

Then, backwards. That for a few times, till the tongue made its appearance.

It was kind of strange to feel such a touch through the trousers, but also so pleasurable. And Aziraphale wondered how good would it be without them.

«Crowley», he murmured, suffocating his embarrassment, «Would you please--?»

_Please, don’t let me end the sentence._

«Maybe».

_You devil_.

He was never going to beg for his touch, he decided. It was something too intimate, too strange, too weak.

And he knew that he could allow himself being weak next to Crowley but he didn’t wanted to look too desperate for his attention.

But his body was doing a perfectly good job all alone, ‘cause after all those millennia spent faking that he was not interested, it was acheing for the devil’s hands and mouth.

Crowley decided that he didn’t wanted to hear him beg. Not now.

He unbuttoned him with clever fingers, slowly, just enough to make him even more impatient.

And then his pants were on the other side of the room, over a pile of dusty books.

Aziraphale would have said something in another occasion but that was not the time nor the place and he was too focused on the fact that there was just one last layer of fabric between his erection and Crowley’s tongue and that was definitely making him crazy.

He had dreamed that for so long.

Not real dreams, of course: as a known fact angels couldn’t dream. But sometimes, during some lazy days all along those infinite millennia, when he had had no other company apart from his books, he had spent hours lost in thoughts about his friend.

At first he had tried to swipe them off, hid them in some recess of his mind.

They had started as something soft: the thought of them spending way more time together as friends, with long chats and laughs. He had imagined fake discussions about morality and the meaning of the universe and all that stuff. But after a while other thoughts, more intrusive and sinful had began to appear.

Skin being touched, kissed, bitten.

Questions about sinful things were raised, like: what does Crowley sounds like when he moans?

Six millennia spent aching because of these thoughts, being certain that they were wrong ‘cause they were too different, water and oil, but finally he knew that they were just right, perfect for each other, two sides of a single coin.

And the validation arrived when Crowley’s tongue finally licked his most sensible part, enough to tease him, to make him sob loudly because that was what he needed right in that moment.

To be worshipped by that beautiful devil, spoiled

And when finally he was taken in his mouth he was already lost.

**-**

_He can’t leave me like that_.

That was Aziraphale thought when Crowley stopped abruptly from taking care of him, rising to bend on his knees.

He opened his shut eyes to look at him with a little disappointment, just to see how red were his lips, usually so delicate and well delineated, now swollen by desire, a silver thread of saliva that was hanging by their corner.

The demon’s pupils were fissures and were looking at him with pure lust.

_God_ , how was it possible for someone damned to look like Heaven sent?

He reached for him, grabbing his nearest wrist to pull him towards himself, to steal him a kiss.

**-**

So, he thought, that’s his taste.

He had expected something different, like sulphur and smoke, but instead totally different sensation got him, that he had never tried before, and he liked it.

A lot.

It was slightly sweet but not in a nauseous way. Round, steamy, with a touch of something flowery. He enjoyed that part of Crowley’s body.

It was something new to discover and he was having fun doing it. For example, using his tongue in a very specific point right under the tip, where there was a little pink scar, made him flinch.

A long, hot lap at the base instead, sometimes – actually, most of the times – was enough to make him sigh with pleasure. And adding a peculiar hand movement somewhere else, like grabbing his whole cock, using the fingertip of his thumb to stimulate the peak, maybe with the hand rightfully lubricated, was just what he needed to make him shiver and whisper muffled words of love.

It was his intention to try every possible combination just to see the possible reaction.

And apparently Crowley was not going to stop him.

**-**

When he finally begged, Crowley couldn’t believe his ears.

«Say it again», hissed, leaning with his whole torso on the angel’s back.

Actually, the angel wasn’t in the right condition to answer his request for he was completely ecstatic.

His hips were anchored by Crowley’s fingers, but the upper side of his body was down, on the carpet. His chest was actually burning a bit because of the continuous rubbing over it, but that was a “next day” problem, something that was going to fix itself.

His right cheek too was on the carpet, his mouth open agape because of the pleasure and the impossibility to employ his energy in anything else that wasn’t his own enjoyment.

He could see Crowley thrusting him with the corner of the eye and it was such an amazing view.

Apparently as amazing as it was Aziraphale himself from Crowley’s point of view, since the demon couldn’t stop looking at him, at the reactions of the angel’s body when he moved slowly, torturing him.

It was delicious.

He was indeed forcing himself, since his demonic side was actually screaming to him to do something more, to grab him by that blond curls and use all his strength against his lovely angel, but it was their first time together.

It was also Aziraphale first time ever.

Crowley knew it.

He could feel it.

No human, demon or angel had ever taken that body, nor the contrary.

Aziraphale hadn’t that sin impressed on his soul, while others now where just part of his personality.

Crowley decided that it should have been a point of honour for him to make up for that lack.

He didn’t want to spoil it.

He needed to take mental pics of every mutation of expression, every moan, every soft word whispered. Also, he had to stay concentrated ‘cause it was so much to bear.

His soft skin was like silk and the freckles on his back were like constellations.

The demon wanted to bite him so hard.

And when in the end the angel had begged, he was there, ready to satisfy every need.

« _Say it again_ ».

«Please, _harder_ ».

He slowed.

Maybe it was the right time to change. On the other end, he was just listening to his angel’s needs.

«N-no, don’t slow down».

« _Ask me_ », he whispered right in his ear. He pulled out, leaving inside just enough for the angel to already feel the loss. Aziraphale squirmed, desperate. He was embarrassed, didn’t know how to behave. On one hand, he had to maintain a certain composure: he couldn’t kneel like that in front of a former enemy, he couldn’t beg. On the other one, he wanted it so bad.

« _Fuck me_ , please».

« _Again_ ».

Crowley’s erection had already twitched at those words and he needed them once again, just to impress them with fire in his mind.

«I want—no, I need you to fuck me on this very rug has hard as you can». It seemed like Aziraphale had regained consciousness. He was looking at his lover with the only eye visible, just a few inches far away from his pressed face. His voice was firm but soft. «I need you to make me feel how much you wanted this for the last centuries. I want you to make me beg to stop this time, because of the too much pleasure that I’m not really sure I can—oh, dear me, yes! Like that!».

He was already pinned on the floor, the whole weight of Crowley put on the hand between his scapulae that was holding him down.

Who was he not to realize his angel’s desires?


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally we know what's gonna be Aziraphale's fate

**\- IV -**

What appeared to be the biggest change of their eternal life somehow became the easiest. How could it not be, on the other end? They had known each other for so long, every flow, every aspect of their character.  
Crowley knew how much his angel loved to spend time at home, surrounded by peace and his books. So it had been easy for him to find a spot right on the left side of the couch, where Aziraphale used to sit when he wanted to read, and reclaim it as his. He would just stay there, the back of his knees on the armrest and the head on Aziraphale’s lap, while the same one had one hand occupied by a book and the other one was always stroking his hair with affection.

Aziraphale, on the other side, knew how much Crowley loved mundanity.  
Not just being surrounded by crowds, of course, but the fact that humans were capable of being noisy and funny at the same time, with their concerts and festivals and orgies – Aziraphale had already put veto on those.  
The angel didn’t really liked that kind of chaos, but he loved to spend time with Crowley and that was enough.

There was no real need to change for them.  
Just a few habits.  
First of all, a big amount of Crowley’s plants had started to make their appearance in the bookshop. They were still terrified by their owner but now that there was Aziraphale presence they were slightly more relaxed.  
Some of them started even to grow flowers.  
Crowley didn’t really enjoyed that but was convinced by Aziraphale reaction when he had first noticed them.

Life was different in so many way, but somehow the same.  
What changed was that Aziraphale had taken the habit of sleeping just to stay more with Crwoley, even though he was more keen to spend the night reading or doing something else, but it was nice to be so tight with him, to wake up surrounded by his arms. Also, Crowley seemed quite adorable when he was asleep. Less devilish.  
There were more dinners, more lunches, more plays, but it was all the same.  
Except that now they didn’t have to hide anymore.

Nor from the others, nor from each other.

Aziraphale had never felt so free before.

He could say and do whatever he wanted, of course still following his angelic moral compass, something that he didn’t wanted to eliminate, for he was still a Celestial Being. Maybe not on duty, but he still wanted the best for humanity.  
And for himself.

Crowley had always been a free spirit, with some chains that had linked him to Hell, but freedom had always been the base of his life.  
His being a devil had this possibility of doing whatever he wanted as fundament. He had always wanted to be friend with that angel, so he had decided to push him trough it. When he had decided for the Arrangement, he had gone trough it.  
And now his deepest desire had been achieved.  
Being equal with Aziraphale.

No more evil, no more good.  
Together against everyone and everything.

They had the eternity in front of them and nothing could have stopped them.

Almost.

* * *

  
The trial was quick.  
Too quick and definitely not so fair, since they didn’t even had given him a lawyer, but since lawyers were Hell’s business, he didn’t had the chance to say anything.  
«Principality Aziraphale», said the Methatron, surrounded by the Archangels that were looking at Aziraphale with a mix of disgust and fear. «During those years you have proved yourself worth of your siblings’ respect. You have worked hard to spread God’s words and your actions were all in his name».

Oh, maybe it wasn’t going to be that bad.

«But—»

Why there must always be a “but”?  
He had already showed them that Hell’s fire couldn’t destroy him. Well, Crowley had. But that was not the point.  
He wanted to go home, to have a cup of tea and hide himself under the covers, surrounded by his devil’s wings, so comfortable and beautiful. He wondered where Crowley were in that precise moment.  
Maybe he was looking for him.  
Or maybe they had him too.  
He had to find him.  
But where was he?  
Aziraphale realized that his tribunal was out of time and space. He couldn’t feel Crowley’s presence anywhere.  
And if he was out of time and space, probably Crowley couldn’t feel that he was gone. What was he doing when they had taken him?  
Oh right, he was at home, looking for a certain book, when all of sudden everything had gone black and there it was.  
Kidnapped.  
Right.

«But you’ve let sin enter your soul and corrupt it. You fraternized with the enemy. You were put on Earth to guide and help humanity to look for Holy Grace and Safety in God and as a result you became one of them».

Blimey.

«In our whole literature there is not a single case like yours, Principality Aziraphale. You went against advices and orders of your siblings, but you acted under God’s light. You didn’t betrayed Her, but you betrayed them. You deserve to be punished, and in other circumstances your destiny would be one and one only. But we can’t destroy you, ‘cause it’s not God’s will. We can’t make you fall, for you are already something different from an angel. We have made our decision».

There was silence.

Angels, all around him, were holding their breath.  
Figuratively, of course.

“Since you had decided to spend your eternity indulging yourself with the pleasures of humanity, We decided to give what you have been seeking for so long, Principality Aziraphale”.

Aziraphale could feel his skin crawling.  
He didn’t liked that.

“You are not going to be an angel anymore. Nor you’ll be a demon or any sort of Celestial Being. You’ll walk Earth like Adam and Eve and their offspring had done. You’ll suffer, and sweat and perish. Your real trial is going to start just then, in front of God herself, at the rightful end of your time”.

Only one thought crossed the accused, right before everything went dark once again, while the echoes of angels welcoming the Methatron judgment had started filling that ethereal tribunal.

Fuck.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, forgive me: I was on holiday and I hadn't the time to write.  
> Second thing, I hop eyou are enjoying it, even though this chapter is going to be pretty short. I know where this is going to head but I don't really know for how long!  
> So, if you have advices or something else, please let me know!

**_V_ **

****

****

Aziraphale opened his eyes and found himself in the middle of his shop, alone.

There was nothing different from before, apart from the fact that he was lying on the floor and that a pile of books had fallen next to him.

But none of these thoughts caught him in that moment.

He found himself oppressed by a weird sensation, nothing that he’d ever felt before.

_Air._

_I need air._

He turned himself on all-fours, his knuckles white in the effort. His whole body was aching and a long slobber was coming out of his open mouth. The worst thing were his lungs.

He could feel them, screaming for something that he didn’t know how to give them.

Aziraphale knew what they were looking for but it was so hard to find it. His eyes filled with tears.

He needed to concentrate and remember what he used to do in presence of humans.

_Imagine them unfolding,_ he told himself.

_Imagine your chest expanding, air filling it in every little interstice._

_For God’s sake, do it!_

And then it happened.

At the end of his rope, his legs trembling, he lifted his head and with the anger and vigour of a lion he breathed.

He felt all of it, every particle of oxygen.

It was the best sensation that he’d ever felt.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

He concentrated on those words for a while, till the movement started to become somehow regular.

_Well_ , he thought, _that was new_.

Aziraphale reached for the coffee table, not so far away from him, and rose up. He felt quite confused and for a few seconds couldn’t recall how he ended up like that. He took some of the books that had fell on the floor, trying to remember, his expression concentrated into finding a little light in that dark matter that was his mind in that moment.

Then he remembered.

A thud accompanied the books while they regained their position on the floor.

No.

That couldn’t be possible.

Aziraphale run, looking for the mirror in his bedroom and when he arrived he almost pressed his face against it. Not a sign, not a scratch. Nothing different.

It was still him, still his human form.

Surely there was a mistake, some kind of lucid dream that he had had because of something. Maybe drugs.

He was still an angel, nothing more, nothing less.

And he could prove it.

The sound of fingers snapping filled the air.

Something simple, a bird, was going to appear in Azirapahle’s left hand.

But to his horror, nothing was there.

He tried once again.

A bird.

_Nothing_.

A book.

_Nope_.

A muffin.

_Nada_.

Aziraphale snapped his finger for what appeared to be minutes, since they started to hurt.

And then a new sensation started to burn his chest.

A sense of dread and lack of air, but different from before. His mouth dried up and limbs started to tremble uncontrollably. He was looking at his left hand with pure panic, but nothing was there.

Still, his reflection was the same.

Then he decided to do something different, something a bit more drastic.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. He had to do it, he had to change back, to show his real self. Everything was fine, everything was totally in control.

But when he opened his eyes, he was still the same middle aged librarian, blue eyes and golden hair.

Not a sign of his wings nor his true form.

For the first time in six thousand years, something took place in his heart. His face disfigured, firstly with pure despair, but right after something different caught him.

Rage. Uncontrollable, horrible fury.

And somehow the mirror was now on the floor, pieces scattered everywhere with big, red drops all over them.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, looking at his hand.

There were still no muffins, no birds, nothing.

Just blood.

Thick, copious blood.

He had already seen the blood of his mortal body more than a few time.

But that time it was different.

It was painful, first of all. His hand was hurting like never before and the flow wasn’t stopping.

That wasn’t normal.

His body had always recovered itself in a few seconds and now he was there, looking at his gushing palm, his mind completely blank.

The sensation of dread wasn’t fading at all, instead it became more and more hard to control.

What had he done?

**\--**

During those hours, he had already decided what to do.

First of all, he had cleared the crime scene: he had hidden the broken mirror and the shattered glasses. That was pretty hard to do, since he had never had a broom in his shop. Simply, dust and such had never made their presence there. He had managed that asking for his neighbourhood help, a barber that had looked at him like if he was a ghost. That was because Aziraphale had never been an extremely social animal, so it was the first time in twentyfive years that they had talked apart from typical regards.

Then it was the turn to hide the hand.

He could not swipe it under the rug, like the rest of the mirror. So, as he had read in some books, he decided to bandage it with an old scarf.

The result was a ridiculous stump that somehow he considered particularly discreet.

No one would have never noticed.

Everything was normal.

He was normal.

And definitely he was still and angel, he said to himself.

«Angel, are you there?»

Aziraphale was still looking at his hand when Crowley appeared right behind him, taking him by surprise. He actually jumped, scared for his life. He hadn’t felt Crowley’s presence, and that was definitely a first.

He turned to him, hands at his chest, hearth pounding.

Crowley was finally there but at least he was definitely fine. Apart from the puzzled look that he had on his face.

«Is everything ok? Did I scared you?»

Aziraphale remembered to breathe and quickly hide his bandages behind his back.

«Dear, you are home! No, of course you didn’t scared me. I heard you coming from the next block, as usual. I was… _acting_ ».

«Acting?»

«Oh, yes», he said nonchalantly. «I have been reading Shakespeare plays once again and now I really have the need to act. Did you enjoyed my “startled” expression?»

Aziraphale once again opened his mouth, mimicking his own reaction from a while before.

Crowley didn’t look really impressed. Actually, his expression was more like the one that he was used to show in front of Airaphale’s magic tricks.

The librarian cleared his throat, avoiding the demon’s gaze.

He had to calm down: obviously Crowley didn’t know about what had happened and he was fine. That was definitely good news. Also, there was actually no need to tell him anything at all.

It was just a prank.

A big one.

Not that Metatron was really known for being a jolly guy, and neither the Archangels, but of course there was no other reason for something like that.

He was _fine_.

_Tickety-boo._

«There’s something wrong here», started Crowley, looking around, his nose up in the air, sniffling for something.

Aziraphale once again forgot how to breathe.

_God_ , it was so hard, how could do human do that every day?

«Really? Everything seems fine. I’m fine», he babbled, smiling.

«The smell of the shop is different. Something changed».

«Oh, must be the new scent that I bought. Pretty nice, isn’t it?»

Crowley stopped sniffing, looking at him.

He couldn’t see his eyes through the glasses but he knew that he was looking at him with suspect.

«What’s behind your back, angel?»


	6. VI

**VI**

Crowley knew that something was definitely wrong.

It wasn’t his intention to come back so soon to the bookshop, but he was minding his own business when this peculiar sensation of discomfort had caught him. And he loved discomfort. He was actually pretty used to it and he loved to create it more than anything. But that was different.

Something had changed, and it was something linked to his angel, somehow.

So, when he had arrived to the shop and had found him perfectly fine, he had almost felt some kind of relief.

Almost.

Because there was something different, he knew that.

Now, Aziraphale was an angel, and that meant that he was used to feel love. Somehow that worked for Crowley too, but on the other side: he could feel humans’ weakness. That’s how he knew when and where to hit. And the peculiar thing was that Aziraphale’s shop was free of that.

Since it was a place permeated with his angelic presence, it had a distinctive smell that could be bothered just by something stronger, so, the presence of something evil – apart from Crowley himself – or something on a higher level than Aziraphale, like his superiors.

But that was different.

It wasn’t Gabriel, nor Beelzebub. Neither Satan himself.

The place now was smelling different: it was like the humanity that was living right outside of the shop had just decided to move all together inside of it, with its fear, anger, despair.

It was something far so different from the usual perfume that surrounded his angel and it meant nothing good.

_«What’s behind your back, angel?»_

Aziraphale blushed, his cheeks red.

«Nothing».

«Care to show me?».

A simple “naaah”, leaved the angel’s lips, but he was still looking aroung, his hands hidden behind his back like a child with an empty jar of jam.

He had no time to waste. He had to know.

So he took a book, something pretty old and mouldy that needed the librarian care, and without any notice, he threw it in the air.

And of course Aziraphale reaction was to show his hidden arms and catch it with a gasp before letting it hit the ground.

«Poor thing, are you okay?», the angel asked to the book, embracing it like a baby.

«The book is damn fine, angel. What about that thing on your hand», said the devil, indicating the stump. It looked like Aziraphale was wearing an oven mitt.

«Oh, that one», started he, «Don’t you think it looks fabulous? I’ve seen humans wear scarves like that and I find it pretty fancy».

Something that angels can’t do is lie.

Well, at least not his angel.

He definitely had tried, but it was pretty clear when he was trying to hide something and usually he didn’t do that whit him. Just with the others.

Like Gabriel.

Or somehow God herself.

So, the fact that Aziraphale was trying to lie to him meant nothing good.

Crowley snapped his fingers and the scarf that was tightening the other one’s hand disappeared, lost somewhere in time and space.

«I liked that one», mourned the angel.

The demon took his hand, not giving him enough time to hide it away.

There was a cut. A deep one, encrusted with dry blood, and it was definitely hurting him, by the reaction that the angel had.

«What happened?»

Crowley finally looked up, searching for the angel’s eyes that were still fixed on his own hand.

«Nothing».

Now, being with Aziraphale somehow had improved his being patient toward bullshit, but definitely not enough, ‘cause in this moment the angel’s behaviour was definitely childish and it was making him mad.

Aziraphale could feel that too, but he didn’t know what to do.

He could not tell the truth, nor there was the tiny tiniest lie in his mind in that precise moment that could have worked right now.

«I cut myself».

«I can see that», started Crowley. «Why didn’t you miracled it away».

«Because--»

A good lie has to be quick and clever, almost blatant.

The liar themselves must almost believe it.

It was pretty clear that neither of these expects was fulfilled by Aziraphale, and Crowley knew that.

«I want to know how does a human feel».

Ok, that was definitely bullshit.

«I beg you pardon?»

«Yes, I want to be like a human. Just for a while, it’s like a little experiment of mine. No miracles, nothing angelical. It seem nice, right? Funny! Don’t you think it’s funny, dearest?»

The demon was still holding the other one’s hand by its wrist. He shook it in front of the angel face.

«Funny? Are you out of your mind? There’s nothing funny in being human. Not this way».

«But--»

«There’s no “but”. You must thank the Almighty that you are not actually human, ‘cause you’re too clumsy and clueless to be like them. Do I have to remember you about your damn crepes? Or that time with the Nazis? You’d be dead in less than a week if you were human».

Aziraphale became pale like a ghost and Crowley felt it again, the sensation of something being out of place. Also, now that he was so close to his friend, it became clear.

He had changed.

His smell was way different; it wasn’t the shop.

It was Aziraphale himself.

Somehow, something had happened and his friend didn’t want him to know. And that meant that it was something bad that he wasn’t going to obtain it being a good demon.

He actually had a suspect, but it was something so beyond that his mind really couldn’t accept it.

But it made perfectly sense.

The different smell, Aziraphale’s aura so softened, the fresh wound.

There was one thing to do, and one only.

He kissed his lover hand, exactly where the cut was.

It healed.

It was pretty clear that Aziraphale was feeling relieved, but he tried to hide it, somehow.

«I wanted to keep it, it was my experiment», he mumbled.

Crowley couldn’t resist the urge to raise an eyebrow but he said nothing, vanishing for a moment to look for Aziraphale’s jacket. He threw it at him, taking him by surprise.

«Get dressed, angel, we have things to do today».

He was going to make Aziraphale admit what had happened, and there was just one way to do it.

For the first time in a while, he prayed to be wrong.


	7. VII

VII

For the first time in his whole existence, Aziraphale was full.

Not only full, he was actually nauseous.

Crowley had dragged him to dinner and he had ordered everything from the menu.

Oysters, _risotti_ , steaks, bouillabaisses, sides and main courses to feed an army. And desserts. Desserts everywhere, so many that they had had to add another little table to place their orders on.

The waiters were scared for their life but at the same time were looking forward for the tip from such an amazing table.

And wine.

Such a copious amount of wine that that it could have filled a bathtub or two.

But it was too much.

Right after the first truffle based dish of pasta, he had felt his stomach bloating and asking him to stop.

So, that was the sensation.

It had been awful.

Even worst then being hurt by a sharp glass.

He had felt the need to unzip his pants to add more space in his belly but he knew that it was completely useless.

And that was not the worst thing, ‘cause Crowley was keeping on pouring him wine that he had to drink not to show his new weakness.

And his head was dizzy and he knew that it was going to get worst but he couldn’t stop or it would have showed Crowley the truth.

Oh God, and now he needed to pee.

That was new too, how could he hide it?

He didn’t really know how much his bladder could resist, since it was the first time that it was making him feel its presence.

Somehow he managed to go to the bathroom, adducing as an excuse a little stain of _sugo_ that was on his white shirt.

Once in the bathroom he looked at his reflection and recognized that it was still the same old angelic one as always. With an exception.

His face was devastated by the abundance of food, his eyes half closed because of the fatigue and the forehead beaded with sweat.

Oh God, he felt pretty awful.

He needed to go home right now.

He never wanted to eat again in his whole life again. Or drink.

Even the idea of the smell of wine was actually making him pretty nauseous, but he couldn’t show himself like that to Crowley.

He tried to recompose himself and came back to their table, showing a cheerful smile that felt more like a grimace, but he couldn’t do any better in front of the view of their table, still so full of food and drinks that he could feel his stomach rising a white flag and ask for mercy.

* * *

He was completely, utterly drunk.

He had already been drunk in his life, but never like that, he was pretty sure.

Even that time after the Armageddon felt like fresh water in front of the Mother of Every Drunkenness. How could humans do that? It was like being hit by a truck.

Everything was turning upside down, his legs felt like jelly and how many hands did he had? Four? Five? _Oh I have chubby hands_ , he wondered, looking at them like if he had just seen them for the first time.

And why was the pavement so far away?

He was definitely too high from that; it would have felt like Falling from Heaven just to trip right there. So he decided to put himself on all fours, crawling through the entrance of his shop, followed by Crowley that was actually too much sober to look at that pity show.

The angel kept going, till he reached for his favourite chair, but it looked like a mountain from his point of view. In a moment of lucidness, he knew that he was looking completely devastated, but he had to keep going, to show to the other one that he was fully capable of doing whatever he wanted and that the five glasses of wine that he had had hadn’t done anything to him.

The fact that he was used to drink five bottles of that same wine before reaching that state, before what had happened that afternoon, was just a trifle.

He climbed his chair and it felt like the mount Everest. He could also feel that he needed much more air, and the sense of nausea that he had had at the restaurant was still there, even stronger.

But then he was finally sit, almost pulling himself together. 

And now he was looking at Crowley with a gaze that seemed to say “ _See? I can do that_ ”.

«Please, take a seat, my dear», he said to his lover.

What actually came out of his mouth was a “ _Plish, takeshit, ear_ ” with a scatter-brained tone that Crowley didn’t really understood.

Aziraphale was finally sit, his stomach full, his head spinning like the room they were in, his bladder stretched because of all the wine and somehow, after all these new sensation, something once again different hit him.

He yawned, incapable of stopping himself.

He had no time to hide it and just after a few seconds he hid his open mouth from the other one, that wasn’t opening his at all.

Maybe that meant that he was hiding everything pretty well. He congratulated himself in his mind, but actually he said out loud “ _Oodob_ ”, which meant “You are doing a really good job”.

Crowley wasn’t suspecting anything at all.

But the reality was that Crowley was too panicked to do or say anything.

That evening was like a car crash he couldn’t stop looking at.

Aziraphale was completely devastated and even in his worst condition as a drunk angel in the past he had never seen him like that. Not only he couldn’t even talk because of the quantity of alcohol gobbled, but also he couldn’t stay with his eyes open. He was falling asleep, and that just after a few glasses of wine. Crowley had had four times the same amount and he was perfectly fine.

And worst of all, he hadn’t eaten almost anything. He had clearly seen him try to hid in the napkins and under the table some dishes but it was blatant.

Something had happened and his angel wasn’t the same as always.

He was—

Crowley had a word in his mind but it wasn’t his intention to use it at all.

It was too soon and he needed to hear that from Aziraphale’s mouth, ‘cause of course he was wrong and there was a really plausible explanation.

First of all, the angel would have told him if anything like that had happened and that was not the case.

It was a joke, a really twisted one and not really funny but Aziraphale hadn’t really understood yet how to pull a prank after all those millennia, so definitely everything was normal.

Definitely _tikety-boo._

He twitched his nose. He had to stop using that, even just in his mind.

«It seems that you are not reacting too well to our dinner, angel. Maybe you should just sober up», the demon suggested, maliciously.

The angel eyes became wide open in horror.

«’m fine», he mumbled, not really convinced by his own words.

«Well, you should really do it. I really need to talk to you about something serious and I can’t do that with you in that state», Crowley whispered mellifluously.

The angel’s expression was of pure despair. It looked like he really wanted to talk to him, but couldn’t do that.

And right in front of him, Aziraphale started to concentrate to sober up.

“ _Ok, maybe it’s not that bad_ ”, thought the demon. “ _He still can do that_ ”.

He observed his lover’s expression change in the effort to clean himself from the spirit, and when he was sure that he was actually going to do that, he saw him let it go, resting against the chair, his breath accelerated for the strain.

«I’m pretty tired», murmured the librarian.

Crowley said nothing, for his interlocutor was already asleep, his mouth open, the head reclined on one side, like fainted.

Maybe it was even worse than anticipated.

* * *

Aziraphale woke up the next morning and his first thought wasn’t about his new condition, nor about Crowley. His first thought was “Oh God, I need to puke”.

He didn’t really know how to do that, but he knew that it was going to be pretty natural like peeing.

Maybe the middle of his shop wasn’t the right place to do that, so he decided to stand up and run to his bathroom, but the process seemed a bit harder than he thought.

He tripped, falling on the floor, everything around him spinning.

A soft moan came out of his mouth and everything seemed lost when something grabbed him by his armpits to make him sit on the floor and handed him a bucket.

He had no time to thank that his head was already inside it. Echoed sounds, not really pleasant, came out of his mouth.

Oh God, that was awful.

Why? Why him?

He liberated his stomach for what appeared to be a lifetime, and when he finally came out he could feel his face was disfigured by fatigue and disgust, with big tears rolling down his cheeks and the curly hair glued to his forehead because of the sweat.

Then he saw who was standing in front of him and understood.

Crowley had seen everything and there was not a single excuse to save him this time.

He hadn’t been able to get sober right in front of him, and that, added with all the little clues that he had left around during their last evening were enough for the demon to understand.

And now he needed so much to cry and the nausea wasn’t actually going away and he just needed to forget everything and hide from the other one gaze for he had no excuses for what had happened.

«I’m so sorry», he managed to cry, right before another retch caught him and made him hide once again his head in the bucket.

The sound of fingers snapping filled the air and a second after he was fine. His head was no more spinning, his stomach was empty and the nausea was gone, and so was his bucket.

He felt better.

But he knew that now he had no excuses to hide himself and it was going to be even worse not, since he had to explain what had happened.

«I really hope that the bucket fell over someone. Like Gabriel. That would be fun», the devil interrupted his train of thoughts, and he finally dared to look up for his eyes.

He was smiling softly.

Somehow that was even worst.


	8. VIII

He told him everything. About the trial, about the decision, about his inability to show his wings.

His eyes were on the floor the whole time, looking at his own leather shoes, hands cupping a mug of hot cocoa.

Crowley remained silent the whole time, laying on the couch upside down, with his long legs over the headboard and his head dangling where the legs should have been.

Once Aziraphale had told him everything, silence fell.

It was possible for them to hear people chatting outside of the shop, cars roaring in the rage of the traffic, but the shop was like muted.

«Why have you tried to hide that from me?»

Aziraphale had seen that question coming but he had no answer. He tried to find one.

«I was...scared. You arrived so suddenly that I had no occasion to think how to tell you. I am actually not even sure that this is real. Come on, have you ever heard of something like that? It’s not even a Fall, it’s something totally different. An angel become human. There’s no such a thing».

He sipped his cocoa but it burned too much and he hurt his tongue.

Maybe Crowley was right.

How was he going to survive in that state?

He was used to the easy way: something happen? There’s a miracle to fix it. Or, even better, there’s Crowley. But now, if all of this were true, that meant he had no backups.

The demon wasn’t saying anything and that was no good.

Usually his reaction to bad news were sarcasm and anger, but not this time. Probably he was furious. Hiding something so big from him must had looked like a betrayal, but it really wasn’t. Fear had pushed him, and pain, and the idea of being alone for the first time since the Creation.

Because he was alone, he realized.

If his new condition were real, he was a human, with no money, no family, no idea of how the world worked. Even though he had lived with humanity for six millennia, he had no clue how to behave like one of them.

In his neighbourhood he had always been the strange owner of the book shop that no one wanted to talk to because he had put a barrier between him and them. And not a metaphorical barrier, but a real one, an angelic one that made him look almost invisible, a constant impalpable presence.

And now of course everything was going to change, since he was one of them.

He should had to sell some of his books.

To order new ones and pay for them, with real money.

He didn’t even know how to use his bank account, ‘cause everything bureaucratic about his shop had always been ready for him because he imagined it that way. His computer used to prepare his tax declarations using just one simple key and there was always the right amount of money to pay them, but he had never even had a credit card or a wallet where to keep it.

How was that going to work?

And the light bills.

Did he have an electricity contract?

And the food, what about the food?

Those things were crossing his mind when he realized something else, something worst that had never crossed his mind in those last hours as a human.

He was going to age.

That realization hit him like a train.

His hands started to tremble and he grabbed the mug even stronger, looking for something stable to hid his preoccupation, but he was pretty sure that his face was showing it all.

That was even worse than the Armageddon, to him.

Because, somehow, with the End of the World, he would have still been there. Maybe surrounded just by Heaven and everything that it’s fair, or maybe by the eternal flames of Hell, but at least he would have been there, as an angel.

Or, even better, he would have been on Alpha Centauri with Crowley, far enough to be left alone from all of that.

But now?

No more angels, no more devils, no more decisional power.

He was one of the animal in that little zoo that the Earth was and he had nothing to do till the day of his—

He choked on his own breath and he had to grab his throat.

The cocoa was now on the floor, his mug crushed, but it didn’t matter.

He was going to _die_.

Someday, somehow, maybe not even because of his age, he was going to die and he perfectly knew what was going to happen after that.

Either way it was going to be Hell or Heaven, and both of them right now seemed so similar.

And there was something that he couldn’t even bear to imagine.

He couldn’t stop shaking, his hands contracted like claws, unable to close or open them completely. Once again he couldn’t breathe and his eyes were filled with tears. He wanted to drive away that single, horrible thought, but the more he tried to do that, the stronger it hit him, images flashing thorough his mind.

_I’m never going to see Crowley again._

His eyes were wide open, fixed on his trembling hands, and he could feel big salty drops hitting his pants. Everything around him felt like wadding.

A hand broke that curse, put right on his left cheek to stroke it gently.

He couldn’t order his limbs to move, they wouldn’t have responded, but his eyes rose up to the devil that was now crouched down between his legs, his feet crushing the pieces of mug scattered everywhere. He managed to realize that Crowley wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore and those eyes were showing something that he’d never seen before.

Somehow, that calmed him a bit.

The demon’s fingers stopped caressing his cheek and both his hands looked for the former angel’s ones. Crowley kissed those shaking palms for what appeared to be hours, till they were trembling no more.

But tears kept coming and there were not enough kisses to stop them.

«You didn’t Fall. You didn’t failed God. If what happened to you is true, you are not a demon, an Outcast. You had become her favourite creation and they had made a big mistake».

«That’s worse than Falling», he managed to whisper.

«How can you say that?», said Crowley, trying to hide how that comment was offending him a little bit, but it wasn’t the right time to show it.

«Because as a Fallen I would have still been immortal and I could have spent the rest of the Eternity with you».

Silence fell again between them, enough to let Crowley elaborate that idea.

He rose up a little bit, enough to reach the other one’s height, and once there, he looked for Aziraphale’s lips. The angel closed his eyes, trying to hide how much that touch was hurting him, but he still couldn’t stop crying.

But somehow he decided that if that was going to be his fate, he would have walked it right next to his friend, till his own very end.

And at the end of the path, he hoped for the first time to find only the oblivion and nothing else.


	9. IX

**IX**

Adapting to being human was definitely not easy.

First of all, all the needs that since then had been considered something to play with, like napping or eating, now were just something that he had to do.

To change from being an Ancestral Entity to a mortal could be better described as a jetlag: you are confused, don’t know when it’s time to sleep or eat and everyone around you seems perfectly normal with that.

Except for Crowley, that now had to adapt too to his lover’s routine.

He had tried to help, actually, especially with the sleeping stuff, since he was a big fan of napping.

Firstly, they had established to follow some easy rules: when the sun is up, you must be awake, when down, it’s time to go to bed.

That thing had worked for a week, but they had decided to be more flexible.

For the first time since he had moved to his shop, Aziraphale had realized that it was time for him to change his mattress, since he had had it for at least two centuries. He wasn’t really used to sleep on it as an angel, and Crowley during those two months spent together after the failed Armageddon had pushed him to spend the night at his apartment, which had a more appropriate bedroom.

But he now realized how uncomfortable and bumpy it was.

Crowley took it as a sign and realized one of his most hidden dreams: change his friend’s bedroom in something so comfortable that it was probably made of clouds.

«You were waiting for an occasion like that», mumbled the former angel.

«How can you accuse me of something so insensible».

«You literally burned the old mattress in front of my very eyes!»

«You wanted it to disappear and to change it, and I’ve done that. Now stop fussing and help me try the new one».

«But it’s four o’clock in the afternoon, I don’t need to slee—oh».

* * *

Something strange about this whole new situation was Crowley himself.

At first he had seemed almost nonchalant.

Yes, Aziraphale was now a mortal. So what?

That didn’t changed at all his behaviour toward his angel, nor toward humanity. He was still the same old devil, and not once he mentioned the new condition.

But simply it was because Aziraphale was too occupied trying to understand how everything worked:

the main problem was the shop.

Now that he needed to pay for everything, the need to sell his books had become stronger, but it was so hard.

How could he be departed from his beloved first editions or his dusty, neglected tomes? Luckily, Crowley was there for him, ready to pay for everything with a simple snap of fingers – literally - , but he didn’t liked that.

He was now depending on him too much, even though in the past he had loved to be cherished like that, but now it was evident that he had no other choice. It wasn’t a whim anymore but necessity.

He admitted to himself that he maybe had been a bit too addicted to little pleasures of life and it was now time for him to show everyone and himself that he was capable of doing whatever he wanted, even as a human.

He had started studying how to use his computer, but it appeared to be even harder than thought, and the fact that it had 30 years on its back it didn’t made it more easy.

Crowley provided for a new one, so sophisticated and fancy that it was definitely inappropriate, sitting in the middle of his old desk, surrounded by books that needed to be taken care of.

He resolved the design issue by putting a doily over it.

But it was a good machine – Aziraphale had discovered that he hadn’t any kind of connection to the internet, and Crowley resolved opening a really convenient contract on his behalf, one pound a year for the rest of his life, something “miraculous”, as the woman that had sold that to them said, and a miracle was indeed, even though a pretty demonic one – and after a few days he had discovered how to make it work. It was actually really funny, even though a bit hard.

There were some things that he enjoyed really much, like Wikipedia: it wasn’t like reading a book but it had definitely a lot of information that his old tomes didn’t reported.

Somehow, learning how to use it properly was helping him with the idea of revolutionizing his life style.

He had decided to start saving, since he couldn’t have dinner every night at the Ritz – Crowley tried to convince him to do that anyhow - and with that he had started approaching a little more his own kitchen.

Now, that was quite a problem too because it wasn’t really appropriate for cooking something more complex than boiled rice, but for the first period it was enough, since Aziraphale wasn’t able to do much more.

But he was appreciating more and more every aspect of that strange form of alchemy and Crowley became his favourite victim.

After all, wasn’t cooking a bit magical?

It meant transforming something simple as an egg, sugar and flour in something as good as custard, or vulgar vegetables in marvellous ratatouille.

Maybe those new experiments were the reason why Crowley had started to disappear more and more, at first just for a few hours but after a while for entire days.

Aziraphale didn’t really noticed right away, being to busy with the shop and everything, but when he finally did to he was also a bit relieved.

Those changes somehow had made him uncomfortable with his friend presence, even though Crowley had showed himself ready for everything, without skipping a beat.

And maybe that was the problem.

He had never shouted, he had never punched a wall out of pure rage, he had never questioned what had happened. Doubt had crossed Aziraphale’s mind more times than he liked to admit, that maybe Crowley didn’t really care.

Yes, he was helping him with everything and a right after his first attempt with the world of soufflés the demon had decided to procure him a real kitchen, that was fitting perfectly with the new flat, easily reachable with some beautiful wooden spiral staircase by his apartment right over the bookshop.

«People will notice that there’s a new floor».

«People were barely noticing that the M25 was on fire. Don’t worry».

Once he had tried to say that it was too much, that they could had spent some time at Crowley’s apartment to cook and sleep and everything, where everything was already there, but the demon didn’t even let him finish, saying that it was better for Aziraphale to take care of his bookshop and learn how to do anything without any celestial help and that his apartment was definitely too empty for them.

That didn’t made sense at the time and after a few months it felt like an excuse.

The suspect that Crowley was meditating something became more and more stronger, day by day, and his absence made it feel even worst.

_He’s trying to leave me behind_ , he realized one day, while preparing a quiche.

And it made sense: Aziraphale was spending more and more days alone, sometimes even some nights, even though they were rare, and all those little things that he was doing for him looked like more and more like presents to replace him.

Crowley wanted to move on but somehow the guilt of doing that to his friend was probably too much even for a demon and he was trying to make amends prematurely.

He stopped himself, but the quiche was already burned and he had just noticed.

«Blimey».

Since when had he become so distrusted?

It was Crowley, not some stranger.

They had been friends for millennia and now it was so easily for him to think so badly about his behaviour?

Oh, right.

He realized that since he had become human, his nature too had changed a bit. There were more fears, more doubts. He also couldn’t sense love anymore.

Not so easily, at least.

He could feel it like a human with a deep empathy could.

Definitely more than the average human, but not as an angel.

Why wasn’t he able to feel Crowley’s love now?

* * *

One day he dared to ask.

«Why are you more and more away?»

Crowley almost choked on the piece of apple pie that he was eating, another recent experiment of Aziraphale.

The demon passed a hand on his mouth to eliminate some crumbles.

«What do you mean?»

The former angel collected his courage to formulate a sensed sentence.

«It’s been four months since...the trial».

«Yes, I’m pretty aware of that».

«And in these last two you’ve been out a lot».

Crowley was silent, his eyes hidden by his glasses. Since when had he started to wear them in his presence once again?

«So, I was wondering what were you doing».

He tried to make it sound casual but it was pretty clear how curious he was.

«Around».

A little piece of cake fell from Aziraphale fork into his tea.

He didn’t even notice.

«Oh».

«Yeah», said Crowley, filling his mouth once again. He had started eating much more since his lover had started to cook.

« _Around_ », he repeated.

«Yes, you know. Devily stuff. The usual».

Aziraphale let the fork drop, to the demon surprise.

«Crowley».

«What?»

His tone was already more defensive.

«Since when do you do devily stuff?»

The demon let himself slid on the chair, opening his arms as saying “ _Do you even remember who are you talking to?”_

«I mean after the apocalypse».

«Oh, that. Well, I’ve never stopped. It’s my nature, you know. Being evil. Doing stuff».

«But it’s not your work anymore».

«I do it for my own pleasure. I love to induce in temptation. My favourite hobby, really».

He could feel his lie even without any kind of angelic superpower.

«If you want to leave me, dear, please do that. There’s no need for anything so complicated».

There was no anger in his own voice, he found out. Just resignation and sadness, even though he was smiling softly.

«What?»

For the first time Crowley seemed to realize what Aziraphale had been saying.

«What have you been thinking? Why would I want to leave you?»

They were sit to the counter of the new kitchen, one in front of the other. The host straightened his back, trying to get more composure.

«I would understand, really. It hasn’t been easy since...that. And I know that for you it must be awful to spend your time with a mortal. So, please, tell me the truth».

Crowley eyes were wide open behind the dark lenses and he could see his lips trembling as if he was going to say something soon, but the expression changed rapidly.

Disgust, rage and betrayal.

He got up, leaving the remains of their tea on the counter, and turned his back to his lover, leaving the kitchen without a word.

Aziraphale at first remained still, enough to process what had happened, but when he tried to reach for Crowley, he was already gone.

He realized in that precise moment what a big mistake he had done.


	10. X

Three days had passed.

Three days without a word, three days filled with thoughts and fear and shame.

Crowley hadn’t called yet, and neither Aziraphale was going to do it. He was bathing in his own guiltiness, thinking about Avery single sentence that he had said, trying to put himself in his friend’s skin.

He must had looked like a complete fool, so self-centred not to see what the other one was feeling.

He didn’t ate during those three days, and that was a first for him, as a human but also as an angel.

His stomach wasn’t reacting really well to that kind of stress, and while the first two days had been bearable, the last one, so far, had been horrible. He couldn’t read, cook, sleep without the image of Crowley’s expression in front of him, the last one, the one full of pain that he had reserved just for him right before leaving his home.

Last time they had an argument like that was that time right before the destruction of the bookshop, but this time it was different. He didn’t really know how to cope with this new plethora of sensations and feelings so enhanced by his newly human nature. But that time Crowley himself had returned for him, begging for them to go far away, but somehow that last discussion was even worst to the demon’s eyes.

He couldn’t see why.

It was only right for Aziraphale to put himself on the side to let Crowley enjoy his eternal life without the impediment of his friend’s mortality. There was no shame in that.

It was human.

Maybe it wasn’t the right way to think for the devil, but for Aziraphale it made perfectly sense.

Then he thought about the opposite situation.

Him still as an angel and his friend, his lover, as a human.

The simple idea tightened his stomach. Not that being a demon and being a human were so different, but the span of life was a little different and he couldn’t imagine Crowley without his powers.

He couldn’t imagine to lose him.

The dangers of not being immortal were too many and no one was able to predict them, apart from a certain witch.

And then he realized that he would have done whatever in his power to bring him back to his original state, fighting against everything and everyone. And somehow he knew why Crowley had been so absent in the last period.

* * *

He spent a big part of his trip saying “ _I’m an idiot_ ” out loud, gaining more than a stare by passer-byes. He almost run during the last thirty meters, and that was enough to made him short breathed.

But he was finally there, ready to ask forgiveness, for the first time in his life.

Somehow he considered that a pretty good thing, a grown up one for sure, but on the other side it was hard. He didn’t like to be wrong.

And most of all he didn’t like to admit it.

He took a big breath and ringed the bell of Crowley’s flat.

There was no answer.

He ringed another time, this time harder. Of course he knew it was him. He was probably thinking “I’m never going to answer, ‘cause I’m a devil, I have a strong will and I’m right. I have to show him how to behave”.

Yadda yadda yadda.

 _Well, not this time, Crowley_.

He ringed harder and for such a long time that he didn’t noticed the young woman right behind him, waiting for her turn to open the lobby door.

Aziraphale heard her clearing her throat after a minute of muttering all by himself.

«Oh dear, I’m sorry», he apologized.

«No problem. Are you looking for someone?»

«Yes, Crow—Mr. Anthony J. Crowley. We had an appointment and he’s not answering and I really need to talk to him».

The young lady scanned him from head to toes, and decided that he was harmless.

«I’ve never noticed him».

_Typical_.

«But he lives two floor over mine, if I recall well. Would you like to enter and try from the main door».

«Oh, God bless you».

Once, that sentence would have meant something for the future of that woman, he thought, but right now it was just without significance.

They entered the building, run a couple of floors together, and parted.

Aziraphale continued his trip till he reached Crowley’s front door.

Then he started ringing the bell and pounding the door, calling his name.

He went on for ages.

After half an hour, he was absolutely convinced that his friend was inside. He was probably on the other side of the door, listening carefully.

«Crowley, please, open the door. You know I can’t do it without a key anymore».

_Silence_.

«Crowley, it’s been three days. I know I’ve said _things_ , but I wasn’t meaning them. Well, yes, I actually was. I’m worried, okay? It’s not fair for you to spend your life with me if—when I’m going to depart from this world. I don’t want to be a burden. And I know it was unpleasant for you to think that I was sure that you were going to dump me for that, but please, try to understand».

Nothing.

Still silence.

What did he wanted to hear?

He knocked three more times, harder than he could. He remained like that, his fist on the dark wood, his forehead resting there too.

«I’m sorry, ok? I’m a dumb, dumb angel. Human. Whatever. Please, forgive me. I don’t like to cook if you are not around».

He gulped, one simple sentence in his mind to say.

Something that was even harder to say than begging for forgiveness.

His mouth dried up.

Maybe he was going to open after that.

Or maybe he wasn’t even listening to him anymore.

He actually had nothing to lose: if Crowley now wanted to disappear, he could have done that without letting him know. He couldn’t feel his presence without his powers; he couldn’t find him anymore.

It was maybe his very last chance to say it.

«Crowley», he took a big breath. «Crowley, I l--»

Something stopped him.

It wasn’t the door opening, it wasn’t someone behind _it_.

It was someone behind _him_.

A clinging sound that had hit the floor, echoing through the empty corridor.

He moved a foot away from it and slowly turned.

Crowley was there, the flaming sword at his feet, his glasses over his head and a big fusion glove on his left hand.

«What are you doing with that?!»

«Well», Crowley said with a nonchalant expression, «Its owner apparently didn’t want it and gave it away».

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, sorry.  
> Hope I'm not getting you bored!  
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments so far <3


	11. XI

**XI**

Aziraphale had quite a hard time computing what he was seeing.

The flaming sword was blazing right at his feet, as powerful as always, but it wasn’t definitely supposed to be there, not in a demon’s hand.

But that maybe explained the glove.

But anyhow, that was quite a surprise.

Its presence almost deleted from his mind what he was going to say, but right now he wasn’t really sure that he wanted to take it out of his mouth. It was easier with a door separating them.

«How long have you been--»

«Enough to agree with you: you are dumb».

Aziraphale blushed and kept his mouth shut, following his lover movements. Crowley picked the sword, aspiring air through his exposed teeth.

«Burns like hell».

«Not really».

«You know what I mean».

«Want to hold it?», the demon asked.

The former angel smiled softly.

«I don’t think I can do that anymore. It could destroy me, actually».

«Yeah, right».

Crowley’s grip was firm but he was keeping the sword far away from his skin. It wasn’t probably safe for him to use it too.

«Come inside, I need to put it in the bathtub».

With his free hand, the demon snapped his fingers to open his apartment door, but Aziraphale wasn’t intentioned to enter.

«You can’t put it in the bathtub», he exclaimed upset.

«You are probably right. I don’t want to ruin it. The sink will be fine».

And he entered, completely care-free.

The angel couldn’t do anything but follow him.

* * *

Aziraphale finally understood what had happened during those last months. Crowley’s silences and absence, his excuses, anything.

His studio was filled with books, pieces of paper written in every possible language, with photos, drawings, schemes hanging freely in the air as held by some invisible wire.

It was almost impossible to take a step without hitting something.

«What--»

He kept walking, nose up in the air, since he reached Crowley’s velvet throne.

He let himself fall on it.

«That’s why», he concluded.

«Yeah».

Aziraphale could feel renewed shame hitting him like waves of a stormy ocean. Crowley had probably done anything – anything – in his power to commute his sentence. He had made research, he had probably interrogated peoples and done things that he probably shouldn’t have wanted to know. As an angel.

But he wasn’t an angel anymore, and it was in his plan to ask everything.

But first there was something he needed to do.

«I owe you an apology».

«Yes, you do».

«I was dumb».

«You _are_ dumb».

«And I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through those few months just to gather what I’m seeing here. I’ve been selfish. And blind».

Crowley was sitting on his desk, his legs swinging as if he was trying to show that he didn’t really care.

«Could you please, please forgive a silly angel that was just really scared about the idea of losing you?»

That last sentence was a bit too cheesy, but he had wanted it that way: Crowley had probably already forgiven him in the exact same moment he had left the shop three days prior, but it was a little play that they needed to do to re-establish their roles.

He reached for his demon’s hand, the closest one, and caressed it with a certain awe.

Crowley didn’t withdraw it and he took it as a little victory.

«Where did you find the sword?»

He actually wanted to talk about something else, but his curiosity was too strong.

That was another perk of being human: he was now way more curious about anything. He needed answers like a thirsty man needed water.

«Well, apparently our little show wasn’t enough to scare all Hell. So I had to find something that could work. Holy Water seemed too risky this time».

Aziraphale blinked slowly a few times.

«I beg you pardon, my dear. I must have misunderstood. It seem to me that you went to Hell with the sword unsheathed and threatened them».

«That’s what happened, actually».

Aziraphale stood up.

«Are you out of your mind? Not only you somehow had found the sword, you have also used that against your former colleagues?»

«You are making it sounds as it if a bad thing».

«It is a bad thing, Crowley! What if they had caught you? What if you’d hurt yourself pretending to know how to use it!»

«Ehi!»

«That was totally irresponsible!»

Crowley got up too, gaining a few centimetres in height more than his friend.

This time it seemed like the demon wanted to answer back. He took the glasses over his head and put them on the desk with more strength then necessary.

« _Irresponssssible_!». He was actually really irritated. He was sibilating. «I was working for you, you know! Why would I want to go back to that _ssss_ hithole now that I don’t work for them anymore?»

«Bad things could have happened!»

«And that’s why I had the _ssss_ word!»

Aziraphale cut the distance between them.

«You can’t do that anymore! You know that I couldn't help you if something would go wrong and there’s no way for me to get in hell apart from the main door right now, and what should have I done if they had caught you? To wait for years in front of your door for you to come back, maybe thinking that you had gone away because you didn’t want to spend your time with me? You can’t risk your life like that, not for me!»

«For _Ssss_ atan’s _sss_ ake, don’t you fucking underssstand? It’s not for you, ok? I’m not doing that because it’s unfair that an angel had been deprived of his powers and wings, I’m not seeking for some kind of revenge for you!».

Aziraphale reared back a bit.

He didn’t _actually_ understand.

But Crowley kept on going, moving towards him, a hand beating his own chest with the palm wide open.

«I’ve done it for myssself. Just for me and no one else. Because I can’t stand the idea of ssspending the rest of the eternity without you by my side. Do you even understand how damn hard that would be? That’s even worst then Falling, ‘cause God can’t give me something for six thousandsss yearsss and then take it away from me like that because of ssssome bloody whim. You are _mine_ , not theirs. And if I have a single possibility to look for a solution for this damn situation I’m going to move Heavens and Hell to find it».

Dark scales were now showing on Crowley’s skin and his tongue was definitely split in two. He was angry, he was sad and no one was going to distract him from his intent, even Aziraphale himself.

That was what had been hidden for all this time under that calm exterior.

A furious anger, moving his actions, so strong that he had had to hide it from the main cause of it. And Aziraphale understood that it was because Crowley wasn’t sure of being successful in his task.

That there wasn’t a solution at all and that their fate was already signed.

Aziraphale reached with both his hands the one that was still on Crowley’s chest, took it and tightened it between them. Then he kissed it.

His skin was studded with lucid, cold groups of scales that looked like drops of a night sky. He kissed every little one of these lightly, palm and back.

Once he had done that, he rose up his head and took a step to be closer to the demon.

He reached for his lips, not expecting to being rejected, and indeed he wasn’t.

Their kiss was soft, a whispered request of forgiveness by both of them that didn’t need any confirmation.

Crowley let the other one’s tongue force his entrance through his lips.

He was definitely getting calmer and Aziraphale felt the scales of the other one’s hand starting to vanish.

«Don’t», he mumbled between a kiss and another.

A muffled moan escaped Crowley’s mouth, asking why.

«I like you this way».

And to remark his answer, he licked a little trail of scales right next to his lips.

He was pretty sure to feel him shiver under that touch.

He took his time to do it with every part of his body, neglecting the other one’s human aspect to concentrate on his more demoniac one. But for him there was no difference. He loved both of them, equally, but this time he was feeling the need to dedicate his kisses and bites to his softer part.

Also, seeing him with both of his souls exposed made him feel weak in the knees. Once he had exposed his chest and abdomen, eliminated the shirt, he had to stop to gasp.

Crowley looked like a painting, a mythological creature escaped from Hell to come to take him.

And he liked that.

Aziraphale couldn’t stop his hand from touching that serpent pattern, reddish on his abdomen, which looked like flames when hit by the right light.

The demon let him, silently.

He liked that.

His skin was more sensible, especially to warmth, and the Aziraphale’s hands were like fire for him.

He couldn’t hold back a soft moan when his lover, bended on his knees, kissed the outline of scales that were adorning his stomach.

«Angel--»

Aziraphale stopped, raising his head, a soft smile on his lips.

«I’m not an angel anymore», he whispered, without being able to hid the sorrow.

Crowley looked down at him, his jade eyes sparkling with desire, pleasure and something more that he didn’t really wanted to show. A hand was on his desk to hold him still, but the other one was free and went for Aziraphale’s golden hair, stroking them tenderly, so gently that Aziraphale had to contain himself not to let tears leave his eyes.

«You still are to me».


	12. XII

**XII**

There was really no solution, apparently.

Crowley had spent weeks trying to find someone whom knew how to break that curse but no one, on Earth nor in Hell, knew anything. And Crowley was pretty sure about other demons’ sincerity this time, because of the interrogatory he had conducted with the flaming sword by his side.

It was pretty much incredible what a piece of old holy weaponry could do to a devil.

Lord Beelzebub had spent their time together with her back glued to her bench, eyes on the sword.

She had answered all his question but there was no solution in her words.

Neither there was in the prophets, scientist, alchemist, scammers, saints that he had met.

Also, somehow, his newly condition as vengeful demon was now preceding him, and that was definitely not bad because people and demons feared him not only because of his manners but also because of the sword that he was now used to brandish. With his renewed reputation, he could feel that Aziraphale and him were now definitely safe, but it was already too late and it was pretty useless now.

No one, not even Asmodeus, knew about the solution to judgment that had fallen on them.

And that was bad ‘cause Asmodeus knew everything about the Past, since the Creation of the Universe.

«I swear, Crowley, I know nothing. It’s kind of strange, you know. We were expecting to see your angel with us right after the Armageddon for a classical Fall, but— _there’s no need to point that thing at me you know? –_ But when it didn’t happen we forgot it. You know, up there they have great punishments, so we thought that they would have done something about it. And indeed they did».

So, that was pretty useless too.

Crowley was exhausted.

Even Aziraphale was now trying to help him, but in his hands he had just his old books, and there was nothing about an angel being transmuted in a human there. At least not something official and they needed that.

Also, the first inconveniences of being mortal were now showing.

First of all, there were many more incidents both in the shop and in Crowley’s house. The demon had never really appreciated how clumsy Aziraphale was because he had always been ready to put a patch on his messes, but now there were stains, pieces of mugs, pens, dust everywhere.

His angel had already ruined his beloved suit and there was no way for Crowley to take him shopping. He almost forced him to miracle him another one, and that ended with a complete armoire full of the same copies of his three pieces.

«I will still know that they are not the same», he had dared to grumble when he had tried the first one of the series.

Another problem were the cuts, bruises and excoriations that were constellating the librarian’s skin.

At the end of the day, while they were both in bed, Crowley would spend some time to analyse it, his lover completely naked under his touch. At first Aziraphale had considered it degrading, but now it was something that he was looking forward while in the middle of the day.

* * *

Then the first real illness came.

It wasn’t something serious but definitely Aziraphale reacted at it as if it was.

Fever, cold, his nose completely obstructed and pain to all his joints.

«It’s the plague», he moaned on his favourite chair, a blanket tucked around him, tissues everywhere and a hot tea on the coffee table. Outside, London was showing off with a violent storm that was hitting the apartment windows with wind and rain.

The room was illuminated just by the lamp at his desk and the crackling fireplace.

Crowley was sit on the floor, a mug of hot spiced wine in his hands, looking at his lover with a mix of concern and pity. But not too much, for it was only the other one’s fault.

«It’s not plague».

«How can you know? You’ve never been sick».

«Neither you. And it’s not plague. I’ve seen it».

«Oh, right. Your work».

«Nope, not mine. I was just hanging around when it happened. Pure coincidence».

Aziraphale sneezed and Crowley couldn’t resist to the impulse to back off.

He hissed in his direction.

«You can’t get sick; don’t be such a wuss».

«I don’t like germs. Awful things your boss had created».

«Everything has a purpose».

«She created the Sun Fish».

Aziraphale stopped, as looking for something far away in the room, lost in his thoughts.

He sniffled.

«Point taken», he whispered, but coughs caught him once again.

«I could make you feel better, you know».

«Oh», started Aziraphale, looking remarkably sorry. «I don’t know if I can you have sex with you right now, dear. I feel really awful».

«I’m not talking about _sex_ , angel», snapped the demon, the blushing hidden by the light of the fire. «I could heal you, you know. It would take nothing to me and you’d be fine».

Aziraphale smiled, untangling himself from the blanket.

«You know that you can’t do that, dearest. I have to try anything from this new world and to straighten up my body, or I’ll never be ready for worst things».

«But you don’t need that. I’m here for you. I’ll take care of anything».

«You are the sweetest», said the sick one, stretching his arm to reach the cheek of the man on the floor. Crowley didn’t step back. He didn’t like seeing Aziraphale like that, but his body temperature was higher than usual and feeling his warm touch was like Heaven – technically speaking – for his serpent side. That, with the hot wine and the fireplace, meant pure pleasure for him. He could just curl there, on the carpet, and sleep for the rest of his days.

«But it wouldn’t be fair. You’ll have to wait for me to get better, I fear».

«I think you are risking your life for something silly when you have a cheat code right next to you».

Of course Crowley had invented them. And now he actually hated them, since they had ruined playing games for him.

«What’s a cheat code?»

«Nevermind», he groaned.

* * *

Crowley never stopped looking for a solution, even after months and months of failure. Those ones were actually making him feel even angrier, and the Fallen Angel that was somehow still hidden in him was screaming for answers.

It was in his nature after all.

And after running out of humans and demons to interrogate, there was just one part left, the one that had caused everything.

That wasn’t easy.

Yes, he had the sword on his side but it definitely wasn’t going to work against them.

Aziraphale had to be considered out of this story: he would have tried to stop him, no doubt about that. Asmodeus had said the truth and he knew that: when they had had the first trial and he had taken the angel’s guise, they had showed no mercy, nor they had had the last time.

And even though Aziraphale was trying to show himself strong and almost fine with his new condition, it was pretty clear that it wasn’t true.

He had seen him, more than once, when he thought to be alone, in front of his mirror, no shirt, his pale skin showing, concentrating to change something in his aspect, to take out his lost wings. He had seen himself looking for scars on his shoulder, but nothing was there, he had seen with his own eyes while leaving trails of kisses on his back while taking him. It was like he hadn’t been one of them ever.

So he was the only one who could do something.

It was actually his last shot, he admitted to himself one morning, sitting on the counter of Aziraphale’s new kitchen, sipping coffee.

It was a Sunday.

Usually he wouldn’t even take notice but now that Aziraphale had started really to work he had started counting too. Seventh day of the week, and of course he was resting, as God had done before him.

He took a look at the room, and noticed that somehow that had become his house too: there were plants everywhere, his glasses on the table not so far away from him and a comic series that he had started to read to waste his time while Aziraphale was working.

It was the first time in his life that somewhere felt like home.

Actually, _someone_ felt like it.

He had to risk it all for him, for them, for all of this.

It was definitely a crazy plan but desperate time requires desperate measures and now that he had tried what being with Aziraphale meant, he had no intention to let him go.

He wanted to spend the rest of eternity with him, and he had just one last chance to do it.

* * *

There are no checkpoints in Heaven. No turnstiles, no gates.

Just stairs that take you up, and if you are a celestial being you can enter. Even a former one.

Somehow, whoever projected it never thought that maybe that one day it could have been a problem.

So, when Crowley made his entrance in the great all of the bureaucratic part of Paradise, it was quite a shock for the angels that met him first. Maybe because it was pretty clear how in berserk he was. Or maybe because he had the flaming sword in one hand and in the other one he had a little, inlaid wooden box.

Now, angels don’t like unforeseen things.

That was definitely one.

* * *

«Sir», started a timid cherub, entering Gabriel’s office.

The archangel was at his desk, on his chair, working on some files. 

«What?»

«We have an issue».

* * *

And an issue it was, indeed, for when Gabriel materialized himself right in the middle of the main hall, right next to the reception desk, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

That demon, that Crowley, was in the middle of the room – if room could it be considered, since it didn’t have any visible walls -, brandishing the flaming sword towards the guards that had rushed to stop him.

They were taking the distance, since the sword for them was actually dangerous.

But just for them and the lower ranks of their army.

Not certainly for him.

«Demon Crowley», he started with a smile, cutting the distance between them, reaching his guards, letting them part to stay between them, covered on his sides.

Better safe than sorry.

«Am I right? You were the one assigned to—what was his name—ah, right! Aziraphale! It’s been a while, how is he?»

He had to study his adversary.

That devil was well known in Heaven, that was true, but what was worrying him the most was the fact that he was also well known in Hell too. Firstly, as one of their best man – devil, whatever –, and now as their biggest pain in the ass, since what had happened a few times back.

Gabriel had been expecting something, but not from him. Maybe from that pathetic excuse for an angel that had been Aziraphale. He hadn’t thought it carefully.

«Cut the talking, I have no time to waste with you. I’m here for a reason and you know why».

«I don’t know what you are talking about», said with a big, fake smile the angel.

He had to take time.

Why in Heaven did he had the flaming sword? He was pretty sure that it was hidden somewhere in one of their storage room. He was a demon, he shouldn’t even be able to brandish it. Maybe that was a trick like the Holy Water one.

He noticed that the demon was wearing gloves on both of his hands, probably to cover himself from the flames and from whatever was inside that stupid little box.

Maybe Holy Water but it didn’t made sense at all.

Probably it was a bluff.

«You damn know why I’m here».

Some cherubs gasped loudly in the distance.

«Aw, shut up», blurted Gabriel to them, right before returning to concentrate on their host, the smile back to his place.

«I don’t think you are in the right place».

«Cut that shit, Gabriel. Tell me how to take him back and maybe I will not kick your ass».

The archangel felt the presence of his siblings behind his back. Now the demon had no chance.

«You come here with a weapon of ours in your hand, asking us to revoke things that we had decided in front of God’s voice, and for what? For that human?»

«He’s not human», Crowley growled, moving the sword to let the guards drew back a little.

«Oh, I bet he is. You wouldn’t be here, otherwise. I know that you had spent the last period trying to take him back, but you found nothing, as I can see. And now you are here, asking us to make him one of us again? No way. Also, why should we even consider the idea of letting you go away?».

Uriel placed himself next to him, a basin full of the purest Holy Water.

«No. Not one of yours, you idiot. He was never like you. He was good. He _is_ good».

«How lovely», spitted Gabriel. «Soak him».

Uriel was ready, smiling, the basin already on the verge of spilling what would have been certainly Crowley’s death.

«Do that», he started, «And I’ll take all of you with me, assholes!»

Michael intervened, stopping his siblings.

«What do you mean?»

Crowley clicked something on the little wooden box, opening it. The whole audience – and there were many spectators now -, apart from the archangels, step back. Someone screamed in horror.

From distance, it looked almost like an open walnut, with inside a little red light that looked like ember. And indeed it was. But they were not simple embers. Prometheus had stolen and secluded them in ancient times, and they were considered lost. Till then.

It had such a strong power that everyone in the all could feel it, and Crowley was pretty sure that right now someone in Hell had noticed too.

He was going to destroy Paradise all by himself if that was necessary.

«Crowley».

«Mr.Crowley for you».

« _Mr.Crowley_ », kept going Gabriel, biting his own tongue. «You wouldn’t do that».

«Test me».

«It would destroy you too», he bluffed.

«Actually it wouldn’t, and you know it. Now, could you please answer my question? I have more important things to do than talking to you morons, like watching a snail cross the road. Now, make that water disappear».

 _Rude_.

Gabriel sighed but with a simple movement of his right hand he signed to Uriel to vanish it.

«I can’t answer your question. But someone can».

* * *

There was a flash and for a moment Crowley almost dropped both the sword and the box.

Everyone gasped in pure fear. Someone had already run away.

Now, in front of Crowley, there was a white-haired man.

«I am the Metatron. Speak now, foolish demon, what do you seek?»

The grip on his two weapons grew stronger.

«I need to know how to make Aziraphale an angel again».

Everyone was taking their breath. Metaphorically. No one needed to actually breath there.

Metatron was silent, like if he was computing what it had just being said.

He was looking at the demon without any kind of emotion showing.

«There is no answer to your question, demon».

«What?»

Another group of angel disappeared. Very few were still in the room, since they could feel the demon’s rage and how unstable the origin of Hell Fire -the Prometheus’ embers - were becoming.

«What do you mean?!»

«That it’s impossible to reverse Our sentence. He is a human now, we have no power on human things».

Crowley was fuming.

«What the actual fuck are you saying, that doesn’t even have sense! You had put your angelic nose in every aspect of human life since the Creation and now you are saying me that you can’t pull back from a damn sentence?!»

The Metatron was calm, so calm that it was making Crowley even madder.

He was definitely going to destroy everything. No one there deserved to be an angel.

«God and God only can do that».

He stopped his train of thoughts.

«Repeat».

«God and God only can do that».

«Then let me talk to Her».

Someone laughed.

Of course it was that dickhead of Uriel.

«You are talking to God».

«No, I’m not».

«You are, through me».

«That’s not the same. I need to talk to Her personally».

«That’s something that it’s impossible to achieve even for an Archangel, how could a filthy demon like you be able to talk to the Almighty?»

For the first time since the beginning of that conversation, Metatron started showing his real personality. And Crowley was sure that God would have said something different. But there was no way that he was going to achieve that there, in front of those idiots. He had done his work.

He knew what to do now.


	13. XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this fic only for this chapter.

Coming out of Paradise was easy. Definitely easier and less painful then the first time.

What was definitely harder was hiding his burned hand from Aziraphale.

Even with the gloves the sword had hurt his skin. Not in a very serious way but he wasn’t used to have a wound.

He was in his own flat, thinking how to hide it, since it wasn’t possible to heal that with his powers, for it was inflicted by a Holy object. But he realized that if anything was going to go as he was imagining it, there was no reason to hide it at all.

He decided to stay in his apartment for a while.

To heal.

To prepare himself.

And to keep Aziraphale safe, even though he was sure that the former colleagues of his lover weren’t intentioned to take actions against them because of what he had done.

They considered him dangerous and they had the all the reasons to.

He had so many things to do.

* * *

Once again, Crowley had disappeared.

Somehow Aziraphale knew that he hadn’t run away, but there was something in his chest telling him that something was wrong. But he had to admit that this pressing sensation had been with him since the very first day as a human.

An oppression on his rib cage that made him really aware of every breath he had to take, that made air feel heavy.

This sensation was now something constant in his life and it was the worst thing that he had had to get used to. Sometimes, in bed, he couldn’t even sleep because of it, because somehow with this sensation arrived some kind of images too, bad and sad thoughts that made him look at the ceiling with eyes filled with tears for something that he couldn’t stop. And he had tried that in every way he could think of.

Hot tea, reading something light hearted, thinking of Crowley. It didn’t really work.

Somehow, it usually went away when he was with his demon.

Knowing that they were together, maybe not even in the same room, just under the same roof, made him feel better.

Not always. Sometimes those feeling were even stronger than his lover kisses and Aziraphale felt some kind of guilt for it.

He had actually tried to tell him about it, but every time he had wanted to do it his head had began to get filled with awful, awful thoughts and his voice couldn’t get out.

It was like being under some kind of horrible curse.

So he had decided to keep it for himself, as a secret.

He decided to throw himself into his work to get distracted. That worked for one day and one night.

The morning after he was devastated by how tired he was and there was still no Crowley in sight.

He decided to call him at home, sure not to find him. Yes, there was still his mobile but the idea of knowing him there, safe in his apartment, would have been somehow comforting.

The phone ringed three times.

He was already ready to stop trying when a familiar voice answered.

«Crowley».

«Hello dear”, he started. His could feel his voice trembling and he was hoping for his friend not to notice. «You are fine», he stated.

«Yes, of course I’m fine, angel. What’s the matter? Anything wrong?»

_I don’t know._

_«_ No, everything fine. Absolutely _tickety-boo_ ».

«It’s never fine when you use that sentence. Tell me the truth».

«Just wondering if you were coming for dinner. I’d like to try cooking some Italian food».

Silence fell and only the white noise of the telephone could be eared.

«Crowley?»

«Not tonight, angel. But I swear to you that tomorrow evening we’ll be dining together. But don’t cook. We’ll do it at the Ritz».

Aziraphale smiled, even though the other one couldn’t see him. He was actually feeling scared. There was something wrong about that conversation.

Maybe his angelic senses were now a distant memory, but his human ones were in full alert.

«Seems like you don’t like how I cook», he tried to joke.

«Don’t say that: I love any single thing that you do for me».

Aziraphale felt his whole face going on fire and the right answer to that question remained glued to his tongue.

«Now I have to go, angel. Don’t wait for me tonight».

The moment after there was for just the sound of line falling.

* * *

He had never lied to Aziraphale.

Never.

But this time, promising him a dinner that he was not really sure to attend had felt like the worst betrayal. But there was no other choice. The angel wouldn’t have waited for him to come back if he had told him the truth about his intentions that very night.

But everything was ready, he had thought about every little aspect and consequence of his actions. His risk was calculated but tm there was always that little percentage of being wrong that was right there, to make him doubt himself.

That was his very last chance to change their actual condition and he wasn’t going to waist it anyhow. He looked at the envelop sealed with red wax on his desk. He really hoped for the angel not to read it.

He looked his own reflection in the mirror for a while, then decided to change himself with a snap of fingers.

His best three pieces suit looked perfect for that occasion.

The demon could see glimpses of the burgundy silk lining while turning on himself to appreciate his figure in the mirror.

He liked what he was seeing.

And he was finally ready for everything that had to come.

* * *

Last time it was 1944.

He raised his eyes to look at the gloomy facade of the temple that stood right in front of him.

No one was there. Not at that time of the night.

The times when churches were open for people seeking for help or comfort were a distant memory.

It wasn’t hard to open the door of the left nave. The hardest thing was to take the very first step.

He looked at the white marble as if it was actually challenging him.

A sigh filled the air and, like a swimmer that has to go deep into uncertain water, he entered.

_Fuck, it burns._

There was no difference at all from the last time, but since his reason was different, he had decided not to show himself week. He had to meet someone and the last thing he wanted was to being considered a demon incapable of resisting a little bit of pain.

_Damn, it seemed like walking on burning coals._

The church was completely empty.

There wasn’t a single little light, not a candle, nothing to illuminate his path apart from the moon that was peeking through the rose window that adorned the main nave, making the altar shine.

He started walking faster, his steps reverberating all around him. He could see his own shadow precede him, but once he got at the end of the short walk, in front of the altar, he had to stop.

_That’s so awkward. And hard._

It was also a complete nonsense that he was feeling worse now and not when he had stormed the headquarters of Paradise. But it was different. It was a one versus one that he wasn’t really sure to win. And he didn’t like to lose.

He took the last step that was separating him from the base of the altar but had to stop. He knew that getting behind that point was going to hurt even more.

«God. I’m here. We have to talk».

Silence answered.

 _Typical_.

«I don’t know if you know what had happened here a few months back, but your child, one of your favourite creature, had some kind of accident».

He moved his centre of gravity from the right feet to the left one, to give the other one some rest. It was starting to get a bit painful.

«They made him human. I know, you like them, but don’t you think it’s a bit too much? He had served you well, all these years. Yes, of course he had lost the sword, but if you look at the bright side of that issue, now I’ve got it. And we are always together, so it’s almost like he never lost it, so it’s kind of a win-win situation»

Was he getting a bit more sensible or was the pavement hotter then a few minutes before?

«You know we haven’t talked like this in a while. So you can see what I am doing. He doesn’t deserve it. He was faithful to you and he still is, but he’s scared. He’s like a lost child. And I am trying to help him but it’s been too long since you rejected me and it’s not the same. Definitely not the same. Somehow what you’ve done to him is even worst. And I can’t stand to see him suffer for being such a good angel in your hands. You had created him. You had created us. You are supposed to know all of it in advance and if it’s true then you’ve done something terribly unfair to your best one».

_Ok, now it was like being on a damn barbeque. She’s trying to tell me something._

«Maybe he didn’t behave really well about his duties as an angel on Earth. And he’s gotten a bit gluttonous. And lazy. And maybe it’s a little bit my fault, but come on, how can you put someone here on Earth and pretend that they wouldn’t have a bit of fun? Ouch!»

_That’s bad. That’s really bad. It’s like she’s trying to slow cook me._

He looked down at his feet and his shoes were literally fuming, almost melted on the sacred pavement. He was starting to lose his patient.

«God, come on! You could have done anything to him. You could have killed him, you could have made him fall, but you didn’t. And I think that what had happened wasn’t your choice, but them. They had decided what to do without even asking. Am I wrong?»

A rush of cold, like water, hit his feet. That was a changement.

But just for a second.

«So he don’t deserve it».

Once again his lower limbs went hot and this time the burning sensation took his skin. It wasn’t just like being surrounded by flames. Saint soil was like walking of pieces of broken glasses.

«Why? Because of those little sins? Because he went against the orders? Against the Great Plan? Or because of me?»

He wanted to run away. To escape that holy place and hide where there was only shadow but he couldn’t do that. Not till the end. For the first time ever God was answering him, even though not in the most eloquent way.

«What did you expected? It’s been six millennia of friendship. How could you think that it wouldn’t have ended this way? You created us. I may have done some things against your plans, I may have disobeyed you, but he was always following his nature, and when we became friends it was all because of you. It was your plan, it was your intentions, and it’s definitely your fault if we fell in love with each other, because how could I resist to something so pure? And he’s _made of_ love _to_ love. He can’t be wrong. Not as an angel. Maybe he is now as a human, for only an idiot would love me, but not before. He was acting as you created him and you failed him this way!»

It was strange. He could feel those invisibles flames climbing his legs, like ivy, burning the fabric of his suit, lacerating his skin. But he wasn’t going to stop.

« _Don’t you blame me for that_! I wanted to protect him! Us! We should have gone to Alpha Centauri, but no, he wanted to stay here and save your stupid favourite planet!»

He let a flable groan escape his mouth.

Crowley had already felt that kind of pain, a long time ago. He had hidden it somewhere in his mind and now it was there, brutal, vibrant and even stronger. But he wasn’t going to show his sufferance.

«Forgive him. He deserves it, he’s destroyed. He doesn’t know how to live as a human and I can see how that being a delusion for you is crushing him. And I can’t bear to see him like this, I don’t have the power to let him recover from that. That’s the last chance that we’ve left».

Their last chance.

There was just one more thing to do, even though he hated the idea of doing it.

But it was for Aziraphale.

He kneeled down.

The burning pain was now all over his legs and it was almost unbearable.

He wouldn’t even know if he would have been able to get up and run away.

He just wanted to end it.

«I beg you. I pray you. Let him come back. I’ll do anything you want. You can destroy me right now if you consider it the right price for his happiness, but do something, please. I have just that to offer you. Myself. You already took away anything else. Even Aziraphale himself, when you made him human. Because I can’t even stand the idea to lose him the day of his very end».

Crowley closed his eyes, ready for his fate.

He wondered what happened when angels and devils died.

There was no Paradise, there was no Hell.

He was almost curious.

He really hoped for the oblivion and to end that excruciating pain.

But nothing happened. The pavement was still burning but he was still there and he knew that God was listening. He could feel Her.

«Why», he screamed. «Why don’t you want to take me? I have nothing more to give you!»

His chest was on fire. But it wasn’t for the holy ground he was kneeling on.

It was sadness and delusion and he could feel their heaviness hitting him.

God didn’t want him neither as a sacrifice.

He was useless.

He took away his glasses, his eyes up on the cross that was standing over the altar, hit by moonlight.

The glasses fell on the floor, echoing in that silent temple.

Tears were now drawing lines on his perfectly shaved cheeks, but they weren’t for the pain that was grabbing his limbs.

He had failed.

He curled up on the floor, his fists punching it with all their strength, a silent scream that didn’t wanted to leave his lungs.

The demon hid his head between his arms, facing the floor, letting the tears fall on it, every little drop evaporating in the exact moment they hit it.

Crowley had no other ideas, everything was lost, and someday, somehow, they would have taken away Aziraphale from him.

Then something came up on his mind, something so desperate that could have worked.

He didn’t rose up.

The devil stayed right there, prostrated, on the edge of being destroyed by the holy fire that was making him weak.

He couldn’t resist anymore.

«If we can’t spend the eternity together as an angel and a demon as we have ever done», he whispered, «Please, I beg you, allow us to spend only our _life_ together, as humans».

For an instant he was sure, those were his last moments on Earth. He could feel himself getting weaker and weaker.

That was going to be his end, he thought.

And his last words to Aziraphale had been the only lie that he had ever told him.

How cruel.

One last tear fell from his cheek, but in the exact moment it hit the floor, the flames disappeared.  
The floor was now cold marble under his hands, his knees weren’t anymore on shattered glass, his chest was now free from heaviness.

Right on the ground there were the remain of his tear, shattered in microscopic drops.

But it was still there.

It didn’t evaporate.

He was alive.

He was free.


	14. XIV

**XIV**

Six o’clock in the afternoon.

Another whole day spent waiting, but this time he knew what he had to expect. A dinner at the Ritz.

He had decided in the middle of the working day to close the shop to prepare himself.

A long, hot bath, where he almost fell asleep, cuddled by steam and bubbles.

A warm towel ready for him right after, his favourite slippers already a few steps from the bathtub.

Aziraphale had also decided to try something else this time.

He didn’t know why, but he had this sensation that something big was going to happen that night.

So he opted for something more daring than usual.

Crowley had chosen it for him months before but he had never tried it, feeling too inadequate. That afternoon, somehow, seemed the right one to try something different.

A sand suit, pants and jacket, with a delicious sugar paper shirt that was matching perfectly with its pocket square. He stared at his own reflection for a while, completely astonished.

He liked that.

Definitely not his style, too modern, and the legs were so skinny – how could Crowley do that every day? – but it was nice. Solar.

But now, after two hours spent grooming himself, he was sit on the couch in the back of his bookshop, waiting for his friend, and somehow being dressed like that didn’t really seemed a good idea.

_What if he thinks it doesn’t suit me? I’ve been wearing the same suit for ages now, he will probably think that I have something wrong. I’m going to get changed._

He got up, ready to run, when the bell hanging over the door ringed, interrupting the silence that was filling every part of the shop.

«We are closed», he tried.

«It’s me», said the familiar voice.

Somehow his first thought was “ _Thank God, he’s fine_ ”.

The fear that had moved him since the day before, right after the phone call, vanished, but just for a moment, the time that it took for him to cross the room he was in to the entrance.

And that’s where he stopped himself, in shock.

Crowley was dressed differently, and it wasn’t just the nice suit that was wrapping him, but more like the fact that the aforesaid suit was completely ruined, and so were the shoes that Crowley was wearing.

The soles were completely gone and Aziraphale could see the demon’s toes peeking under the shoe upper. The hem of his pants looked almost eaten, and so was the fabric that used to cover the knees.

His jacket was almost fine. Almost. The cuffs were shredded and the whole aspect of his lover seemed like he had been thrown out of a racing car.

But his glasses were fine.

And he had not a single scratch.

«Crowley, dear God, what happened», he asked, rushing toward him, his hands already all over his body to look for every possible bruise, but there were none.

«I’m fine angel, I swear. I had spent the last few hours trying to get into my home but I couldn’t, because you have the only key».

Aziraphale barely listened to the other one’s excuse, too focused on his aspect.

«You could have come before; I would have helped you».

«Yes, I know. But I didn’t want to scare you and apparently I’ve done it anyway. And I really need a mirror right now. But, Angel», said Crowley peremptorily, taking his hands in his own to stop his lover. «I am fine. I’m not hurt».

Aziraphale raised his eyes but he met only the other one’s dark lenses.

He was surprised to find his hands so warm but said nothing, it wasn’t important.

«Please, tell me, I’m not a child», he pleaded.

Crowley sighed.

«I think we should sit».

* * *

How could it be so difficult to explain something that the other one had already experienced? Hard as Hell, Crowley was sure, since he couldn’t find the right words and they had been on the couch for fifteen minutes with him babbling things without any sense. Actually, not even sentence, just random words.

And why was Aziraphale so unaware of his condition? Wasn’t he different at all?

Of course, perceiving the angel change had been easy as a devil, because of his aura and all, but come on, there must had been something different.

But no, Aziraphale was looking at him with puppy eyes, the hands stroking sweetly the demon’s pants – or what remained of them -, waiting patiently for the explanation.

Well, not too patiently actually, for his right foot was slightly thumping on the floor.

«Angel», started Crowley. Once again. Like, for the sixteenth time.

«Yes, honey».

But Crowley had already stopped again, a finger into his collar, trying to loosen it up.

«Isn’t it blood hot in here?»

«For God’s sake, Crowley, speak», blurted the angel, rising his hands into the air as to ask for more strength. «And please, take off your glasses. You know I don’t like not to see your eyes when we talk».

Ok, definitely not so patient.

Crowley decided to follow his prompt.

It would have been easier making both of them more comfortable.

He nodded, letting him understand that it was an acceptable request, and Aziraphale himself did that, taking the glasses by their arms.

But he froze the moment after, his mouth agape.

«What», asked Crowley.

Apparently not a single word could escape from the former angel’s mouth, for only gasps were coming out of it. Crowley looked at him worried, thinking at some kind of stroke, but finally something arrived at his ears.

«Your eyes».

«My eyes wha--»

He stopped, got up and run for the bathroom, where he almost threw himself onto the mirror.

And his eyes where not there anymore.

Not the ones that he had lived with since the Fall.

Other eyes, hazels ones, bright and shiny, were staring at him with pure stupor.

No more big, jade iris; no more serpentine pupils.

He touched his image reflected, almost trying to cancel it, because it wasn’t possible, it was just a dream.

But then he remembered and abandoned the bathroom in a few steps, just to enter once again in the little studio, where Aziraphale was still on the sofa, the glasses in his hands, as if letting them go would have done something irreparable.

He turned his head only when Crowley was under the doorframe.

«What have you done?»

He cut the distance as fast as he could, kneeling in front of Aziraphale, his hands on the other one’s knees.

«We are free, angel. No more sides, and this time forever».

Aziraphale couldn’t believe what he was seeing: his best friend, his lover, eyes as pure as a child, but even though still the same, claiming some kind of nonsense. But was it, really? 

«I don’t understand».

«I know, it’s kind of hard to explain and believe me, I wanted something different to happen. That was a B plan, and somehow it makes even more sense than the first one, but still--»

«Plans?! What are you talking about», shouted Aziraphale, letting the glasses fell on the floor.

Crowley took a deep breath. It was so strange to actually feel the need to do that, but somehow it felt natural.

But he realized something. He didn’t want to tell what he had done in that church. Not everything. Not the first decision that had crossed his mind, to die for him in exchange for Aziraphale’s eternity. It wasn’t fair to let him know.

So, for the second time in a few hours, he lied again to him.

He said to himself that omitting wasn’t a lie, but he had deceived so many people during those millennia that he knew that it was just a thin line.

«I asked God to make me human too».

Aziraphale had known since he had seen those eyes, so different, so human from the ones’ that he was used to, but hearing that from Crowley’s lips was totally different. His mind couldn’t actually wrap his mind around it and the demon could see that.

In those blue eyes there were once again fear, pain and confusion, something that he had seen too much during those last months. And this time he was the cause of it.

But he had no doubt that it was the right choice.

«Please, tell me it’s a joke. It’s a joke right?»

Aziraphale grabbed the other one’s shoulders, as to shook him into his senses, but a thought caught him.

He could feel Crowley’s body heath.

That was absurd: being a serpent, Crowley’s had always been cold, looking for a sunray or for a fire to get himself warm. And now he was as hot as him.

He didn’t wait for an answer, letting his hands touch the man kneeled right in front of him, feeling his skin, his hair. He stroked them gently, his eyes teary.

Aziraphale let a hand go to the other one’s neck, to find a very specific point where his fingers lingered a little bit.

He could feel his heartbeat.

It was racing.

But Crowley was looking at him silently, waiting for the right moment to talk. The demon – now ex - finally moved. Nothing sudden - it almost seemed like he didn’t want to scare the former angel with his movements – but he took the other one’s hands, letting them rest between his.

Aziraphale followed what the other one was doing, till those hazel eyes were again looking for him.

He realized just in that moment how beautiful they were and for a moment thought that maybe those weren’t the other one’s human eyes, but his angelic ones. That would have explained so many things, and first of all why he was feeling so nude while they were fixed on him.

«Why have you done it?», Aziraphale whispered, devastated.

Crowley smiled softly, something so light that he thought that he had imagined that for a moment.

«Because I love you».

Aziraphale’s mind froze.

No thoughts, no fears, nothing.

«And as I already said, you are mine and I have no intention to lose you and to spend a single second of my eternity without you by my side. And if that means that someday, somehow, I’ll have to die, it’s fine. I’ve done enough. The only regret that I have is that we are two morons who decided to play hide and seek from each other for years, wasting our time pretending to be enemies. We could have done so, so much. But we are here, now. There’s no one whom can stop us».

Big tears were now falling from Aziraphale’s eyes and somehow he was on his knees too, his hands free because Crowley’s ones were now on his cheeks, trying to contain those salty rivers.

The ex-angel tried to talk, but it was hard to understand what he was saying through the sobs.

«You could have saved yourself. You know we’ll be damned after all of that and I can’t stand the idea of you suffering tortures of hell because of me».

«I don’t care».

«You are an idiot», cried Aziraphale, his hands once again on the other one’s face, caressing it, while Crowley was still trying to stop his tears with his thumbs.

«And you are too dense to be considered the clever one, but maybe that’s why we still like each other after all those years».

Finally, unexpectedly, Aziraphale giggled between tears, actually not really sure if he was crying because of his loved one sacrifice or because he was somehow happy.

He decided that it wasn’t the right moment to answer his own question.

Aziraphale leaned towards Crowley, pulling the other one’s head towards himself, enough for them to let their foreheads to touch.

«I love you too»

Crowley smiled as they closed their eyes.

And silence fell.

Somehow, there was nothing more to say.

* * *

Being human it’s not easy.

There are boring things to do, like pay taxes, respect laws and have a social life. Also, if you are a celestial being and somehow you become mortal, you can find yourself in some kind of difficulties with basic things, like buying groceries, traveling or having to find a good mechanic because your Bentley somehow doesn’t repair herself anymore.

Money are an issue when you are human, but if you’ve been a clever devil, sure you have saved something for yourself and your favourite angel in case of emergency. And in some cases, the amount saved could be fine for a whole luxurious life, and maybe even two.

Another problem is time.

Humans don’t have enough of it, but somehow they waste it.

Two well know creatures, on the other hand, now know that someday everything is going to end, and they live fully, doing what they love: to spend that time together, eating, drinking, making love, even working.

And now that a very specific demon has to employ well his time, work seems like a good idea. But not with books. They’re not his cup of tea.

But luckily there are some things that can fit really well in a bookshop that now sells the last best sellers too, and not just antiques tomes.

Like plants.

So, if you walk down to Soho and happen to notice a strange shop, something that you have always know it’s been there but really never acknowledged, don’t pass by it.

Enter.

Look for something, maybe a novel, maybe a bouquet for your special one, but most importantly look for the owners, two peculiar guys whom really don’t know how to treat a client but that surely seem to have so many nice stories to tell and whom look at each other like they have just a few seconds to keep loving one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done it!  
> That's the longest thing I've ever written in English and I must admit that it was really hard, but I had to do it.  
> Hope you enjoyed it and liked it, even though I'm pretty sure it's full of mistakes.  
> BTW, let me know if you liked it (or not!)
> 
> Love,
> 
> Bethesda


End file.
